


Lessons In Avionics

by recurringdreams



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recurringdreams/pseuds/recurringdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or How Martin Crieff Got His Groove Back, assuming he had any in the first place...</p><p>Martin finally overcomes his fear of the students downstairs, and maybe takes one of them to Duxford... Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd prettily by @Spazaroth

He really hoped he’d timed it right so that nobody else would be awake. Creeping down the stairs – bare-foot because his slippers had torn the week before, and he definitely wouldn’t have time to shop for a replacement pair for at least another three days – Martin padded into the kitchen that he shared with the… _students._

With practised ease – because he really didn’t like interacting with them in the daytime, they were younger than him, and one of them always had a scowl on his face like Martin owed money on the rent or the bills – he wound his way around the table in the mid-night gloom and avoided the handles that jutted out of the cupboard, knowing from experience that they made a noise like nothing on earth when they caught on the pockets of your pyjama bottoms and they pulled the door open and oh, god, the _banging it caused. At four in the morning…_ They’d given him a few dirty looks the next day, to be honest, but that had been three years ago, and this lot had only moved in at the start of September.

 _Probably a good idea to leave that note about condensation lying around soon, then, Martin. It’s October already._

Absently, he scratched at the t-shirt he was wearing, feeling the cotton and the cool night air, and shivering as he reached the fridge and pulled it open, fumbling around for one of the bottles of water he had refilled earlier that afternoon.

The sound of one of the bedroom doors opening on the floor above him, and footfalls on the stairs made him shrink back into the shadows and very nearly drop the bottle. Suddenly panicked, he shoved the fridge door closed and shrank back into the shadows, hoping that he could avoid the glares of whoever was about to enter the kitchen.

 _Flip-flop._ Annoying slapping noise during the day, perhaps, but highly useful to alert any thieves, beggars or _Martin Crieffs_ in the vicinity. It was the girl, not the sullen boy, or the angry boy. The girl that wore glasses when she was copying out pieces of machinery onto plain paper in the kitchen – _engineering, he thought he remembered_ , and who Martin was sure was _not_ called Helene. No, because he’d never heard anyone shout at her for leaving charcoal in the kitchen near the food – _It’s sterile, you’re not going to die! –_ and he’d never actually _listened_ before.

She clicked the light on and he had just about enough time to catch the fact that she was wearing headphones before she turned to the fridge, pulled out the milk , precariously balanced it on the edge of the table, and turned around to get a bowl.

 _Oh, yes. Bowls were in the cupboard Martin was standing in front of._

If he had to process anything of the next five seconds, it would be that the only time he’d heard a gasp like _that_ was when Arthur discovered that Douglas could not, in fact, juggle whilst playing the harmonica.

He held out his hands as if he was quieting a frightened animal and watched as she clutched at her chest with one hand, and slowly raised her other to pull one of the earphones out of her ears. As it bounced against her pyjama top - yes, his eyes had followed the shiny blue earbud, no, he wasn't staring at her… _her_ \- he heard the tinny strains of Diana Ross and couldn't help but smile, even though his brain was screaming _"MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MIKE ALPHA ROMEO TANGO INDIA NOVEMBER TO CONTROL!"_

There was silence in the kitchen, punctuated only by the panicked breathing that was most _definitely not_ coming from Martin, and the echo of ‘You can’t hurry love’ from the tinny speakers.

“D-don’t scream?” He found his voice moments after the chorus has melted into the verse, “please don’t scream. I-I, I live he-upstairs. I’m Ma-Martin…” And to what he could only call his eternal surprise, she giggled.

“I know that, silly.”

“You-you _do_?” She laughed again, nodding and making a hand motion that definitely said _get out of the way,_ though her smile added a quiet _please._

“Of course I do. You live up in the loft bedroom, right? The landlord told us you’d rented here for what, ten years now? I can see why, it’s good and cheap, isn’t it?” When Martin only replied with a muted, petrified nod, she carried on, grinning now as she filled her bowl with what looked like a bargain-bin, student-type version of Weetabix. “And, I mean, it’s not as if you’re always here, you’re off gallivanting most of the time, aren’t you? All hours, getting picked up in those taxis, disappearing for like, a week.”

He didn’t dare say a word. She was making his job… his _hobby…_ sound daring and dangerous and for a moment he felt like Indiana Jones. _Then he realised how awful that would sound if he said it aloud. **Then** he realised that he **had**_ _said the words, and he sprinted from the kitchen without looking back._ It was almost a surprise when he got up to his room – water bottle in hand, of course, because that was what he’d gone downstairs for in the first place – and he _couldn’t_ hear the laughter bubbling up the stairs.

Sitting back down on his bed, tugging his blanket over his feet and glaring around the gloomy bedroom, being above the streetlights and that, he unscrewed the cap from the bottle – a satisfying _crack_ ing noise only appearing because he’d taken Douglas’s advice and started resealing his water bottles with nail varnish so he could… _pretend_ they were new – and threw it across the room. It clattered to the floor somewhere near his half-empty chest of drawers and he sighed.

“Idiot.” He muttered quietly, “Idiot.”

When he finally fell asleep, Martin Crieff could hear the birds beginning to sing.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which awkwardness ensues. As per usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd again, by @Spazaroth

He avoided the kitchen for three weeks. Three weeks in which he heard her laugh while he was coming down the stairs, and so turned around and ran back up them. Three weeks in which he woke up  _extra_ early so that he could be out of the house before anyone else woke up, where he went to bed  _extra_ late so that he could eat when everybody was out of the way.

 _Arthur was making him a lot more coffee, and Douglas had made more than a few snide remarks._

MJN flew to Cuba ( _and Aruba_ ), to Dubai (… _There was no rhyme for that that Martin could come up with_ ), and to Cork ( _but not New York_ ), in those three weeks, and Martin managed a good eight deliveries to fill up the rest of his time. The rest of his time, he spent in his room – because he didn’t think that in the past nine years he’d even _breathed_  in the living room downstairs – moping, listening to the music floating up from downstairs, and staring out of the window.

He didn’t even understand  _why_ he still felt so stupid. It had only been a throwaway thought – that obviously his brain had  _thrown away_  into the big, wide, terrifying space between himself and - definitely -  _Helene_  (because he’d heard Sullen use her name when Angry had needed her to help him clean the windows –  _Helene, you’re good at this kind of thing, domesticity! – Shut up, you dick!) –_ and now it was on a loop inside his head.

It had, somehow –  _read that as Arthur_  – been brought to his attention that it was Halloween in a few days, and although he’d not had any desire to see the… well, the mess, to be honest, that students could create on days like that, he _kindamaybesortof_ wanted to see them dressed up. They always put on costumes – well, the last seven years had, the others just  _hadn’t been into that –_ and if he was really, really honest with himself, a small part of him was jealous that they could afford to go out on the town, but he had to fly on the first of November, and it really wasn’t worth risking it.

Then came the knock at his bedroom door, and the  _‘Hello? Martin?’_ that followed was more than enough to make him want to curl up and maybe die a little bit in his room.

“Come in,” he sighed, resigning himself to the fact that this was most likely going to get very awkward very quickly. She hovered by the door, taking in the threadbare rug that stood at the end of Martin’s bed, the boots that sat on top of it –  _in need of a good polish, good point –_ and the cap that was hanging from the wardrobe door frame. At the sight of the Captain’s hat, she smiled brightly and cut him off before he could even form the words.

“You’re a captain?”

“Yes as a matter of fa-wait? You… know that that’s a captain’s hat?”

“It’d be hard for me not to know,” She laughed a little bit, then shrugged and looked like she was setting her shoulders to say something. “but that’s beside the point. I came up for two reasons.”

“Wh-ich are?” His breath caught mid word as she smiled at him again.

“One, we want to have a house party at Halloween, and I just found out that the boys haven’t told you. And two, we…  _I_ wanted to invite you.”

“I don’t have a costume.”  _Not a no, but a get out clause._ “And I’m flying the day after.”

“Oh.” She hesitated and then sighed, “Alright.” Another pause and she crossed the room to stand next to where he sat on his duvet. “Can I… sit?”

“I-if you want? I mean, I haven’t done laundry in about a week, but I guess it’s clean enough, I mean, I’ve mostly slept and sat here, so I-”

“Martin, shut up.” She plonked herself beside him, so that their shoulders were touching, but nothing else.

“Sorry, Helene.”

“Don’t apologise, I… surprised you?”

“I… yes,” he said, a flush rising in his cheeks as she leaned against him a little and he… well, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but probably Arthur –  _because Arthur wouldn’t mock him half as horribly as Carolyn or Douglas –_ he liked it. He liked the feel of her jumper, dark green and it looking a bit like cashmere, but probably only Douglas would know by-sight, soft against the space where his t-shirt sleeves ended. “You did.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Just… don’t be afraid of us, you know. I mean, the boys are… sullen, and angry, but to be honest, I like you. You’re quiet. And you seem nice.” He snorted before he could stop himself. “What, you’re an axe murderer?”

“No, no… It’s just that I might… have nicknamed… oh, what even are their names?... anyway, I called them Sullen and Angry in my head.”

“And what was I?” She looked up at him and bumped her shoulder against his.

“You… erh, you were…” He hesitated and blinked up at her, hoping for some kind of adjective to supply his lack of nickname, but finding none. “You just were.”

She laughed quietly, and in the half-light of the evening, Martin could see the blush rising in her cheeks.

“I think I’m supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“Of course.” And this time, he bumped her shoulder, just to see. Their hands brushed as he leaned, and for once, his cold hands met ones that didn’t just warm his skin. With no words at all between them, her hand slipped over his knuckles, and squeezed lightly, stealing his breath and making him stare. Before he could say another word, however, she was rising to her feet, and pulling lightly at the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“Think about it, though? You could come as Captain Crieff, master and commander of the skies.” She giggled again, blinking quietly. “It could be sexy.”

And with that, she was gone, and this time, Martin sat eyeing up his captain hat, first scowling, then smiling, then maybe thinking that today wasn’t as bad as it had looked that morning.

 _Wait. Sexy? Did she just- No._

.  
.  
.

“She’s one of the students I live with, Arthur. Very nice girl. Invited me to their costume party at the weekend.”

“I like costumes. Never did quite know who I was supposed to be when I went as a ghost to that thing last year though.” Arthur was pottering about the flight deck as he listened to Martin ramble on, somewhat dazed, somewhat clearly amused by the proceedings. “Is she nice though?”

“What do you mean? I just told you she was  _very_  nice.” Martin grinned, sipping his coffee and sighing quietly. “Do I go, then? I mean, should I? If I think she’s… very nice, should I go?”

“I say why not, Skip?” Arthur crouched and looked up at his Captain as he tied up his shoe, “I mean, what have you got to –  _make bunny ears and loop it around –_ lose? At worst it’s a bit silly for the next month, but she’ll forget, and you’ll forget.”

“Did you… just have to do a rhyme to tie your shoes? And give really good advice in the same sentence?” Because surely  _Arthur_  didn’t. Well, yes, there were occasional flashes of brilliance – the… well, no, not that… the… it was _Arthur_  – or maybe there weren’t, but Martin had never heard him say something so brilliant whilst also saying something so juvenile.

“Well, I didn’t  _have_ to, Skip. I just like it, makes me think my feet are like little bunnies. Especially in such  _ugly_ shoes.” Arthur let out a laugh, pulled at the laces to make sure they were entirely tied, shrugged and smiled even wider. “Don’t tell mum, though. She thinks I like them.” Another shrug and he turned on his heel, closing the door behind him as Martin took a long drag from his coffee, closed his eyes and frowned at the thoughts that seemed to swirl around his head.

 _He could go. He probably **should** go, given the fact that it was technically his house, and if he didn’t want them to be bragging about their ‘friendly ghost’ for years to come, he should probably put in an appearance._

Obviously, it had nothing to do with him wanting to see how she dressed. _How she looked drinking from a tall glass of whatever alcohol she liked,_   _if she liked it. How she smiled at him when he came downstairs dressed as a Captain, with all the gold braiding, and how she…_  He choked on his thoughts as Douglas slammed his way into the flight deck, looking for all the world like he was about to murder someone. Namely Martin, because… well, he was  _smiling_.

And if Douglas was on the war path, a happy Martin would be the first person he picked on.

The smile slipping off his face like ice from GERTI’s wings (well, if the de-icer wanted to work), Martin set his coffee down, turned back to the controls and murmured a quiet hello to his First Officer, shoving all thoughts of Halloween out of his mind.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin wishes he was drunker than he was, and people ask him if he flaps and runs for a living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by @Spazaroth, and the add on was fixed by Anglo. Thanks loves.

_ September 8th.  _

_   
_

“Sorry, sorry…”

“It’s alright, lass, don’t worry. Just move that way a bit, so I can get past and I’ll be out of your hair.” _Shuffle. Shuffle shuffle, thunk._ Martin poked his head down the attic stairway and looked for the source of the shuffling.

“Hello!” The voice came from down the main stairs, cheery, bright but with a nervous crack that had him suddenly pitying the young woman it came from. “Are you alright coming down from there? Bedside table’s not in your way, is it?” Quickly, Martin was looking around for the offending piece of furniture, finding only a low table at the bottom of the stairs.

“This thing?” Martin pointed, “Nah, it’s fine. I can clamber over it.” There was a moment where he attempted to do just that, proving that he was entirely capable of certain amounts of athletic activity. The moments just after that, however, consisted of him flying through the air at a spectacular rate and nearly breaking his nose as the ground rushed up to meet him.

The low, yet noticeable thud of his head hitting the carpet was only slightly less embarrassing than the loud crack that was the sound of his knee smacking the hardwood top of the cabinet.

“Oh god! Oh god! Are you okay-uh-are you alright?” She sprinted up the stairs, abandoning what looked like a small potted plant on the top banister and trying to lift him up.

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s all good.” And then he looked up into her face. Big eyes, wide and concerned, looking down on him with warmth he hadn’t seen in a while. “L-l-legs all over the p-place, me.” He tried to laugh it off, but nothing came out save a high-pitched squeak. “I’m-I’m Martin.”

“Martin.” She repeated it with a curt nod, “Helene. Helene Foster.”

“P-pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” smiling widely, she hesitated before rubbing a hand across her face, “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re… erm, bleeding.” True to her word, there was a small trickle of blood sliding down the side of his face, just underneath his eye.

“Oh, this? This is nothing.” He smiled wanly, knowing he might actually faint if he didn’t get rid of the oozing red on his face, “Although I should probably go and wipe it off. I’m terribly sorry about the-the,” he made a sweeping gesture at the table, “is it alright?” She shrugged simply, making a small, noncommittal noise, “well… I’m terribly sorry anyway.”

“It’s honestly no bother,” she mumbled quietly, “though it was nice to meet you.”

“You too, and I’m sorry. Sorry, again.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes as he passed and made his way into the bathroom, carefully skirting around him and picking the low table from the floor. Closing her eyes and the door behind her, staring at her new bedroom, Helene smiled out of the window. She quite liked Martin, _obviously_ a mature student.

“Love?” The sound of her mother’s voice as she bought up another box of books, or clothes, or something, Helene could not quite see the label, “What’s happened to your table?”

“Nothing, mum.”

“But it’s cracked, love. Did you drop something on it?”

“No, mum. Must have happened on the journey up.” She shrugged, looking out of the door as Martin left the bathroom, still dabbing at the cut under his eye. “Just an accident.” Another pause and she shrugged again, turning back to the now open box of books and dumping them unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Alright love, I’ll get your dad to take a look at it before we go. Make sure it’s not going to snap under a weight.” She paused, “Only a few more boxes,” and Helene was left in her room on her own.

As she slowly organised them into an acceptable bookshelf order, she glanced out of the door again. He was still stood, half-smiling at her as he picked the potted plant up from the top of the stairs and crossed the threshold into her room.

“T-thank you.”

“No worries,” She reached up to take the plant from his hands, “thank you, for the plant.”

“You’d have picked it up eventually.”

“Probably.” She smiled, “but you never know. I might have missed it.”

“I doubt it.” His lips quirked straight back at her. “Well… I guess I’ll… see you around? I mean, o-obviously. I mean, we live in the same house, I mean-and-you… I-bye!” The door slammed behind him as he rushed out, blushing bright red.

They didn’t cross paths for nearly four days.

.

.

.

 _ Present Day.  _

_Straighten your tie, Martin. Make it less messy. You look messy. Martin, you’re a captain, be less messy. You look better than normal, Martin. Maybe it’s because Douglas isn’t on the other side of the door. What time is it? What time is it? Eight? Eight thirty? Can’t be nine yet, but maybe you should go down and have a look. See if anyone’s there yet. See if she’s there. See if-if-if-_

“I look like an idiot,” he said to the room at large. “What on earth am I wearing?”

Two bangs at the door left him without an answer, and with a raging blush that coloured from the tips of his ears to, quite possibly, the tips of his fingers. For a moment, he simply stared at the door, and silently cursed all of his luck, willing his flush to calm down.

“H-he-Come in?” He turned, pulling reflexively at his tie as he heard the door open and caught sight of Helene in his mirror. “Oh.”

“Oh?” She laughed. “You sound disappointed.” Crossing her arms and adjusting her hat, she leaned against his doorframe and smiled across the room. “But you look good.”

“No-no, I don’t. I look… like I always do.” He paused. “You look fantastic though. You’re Indiana Jones? Of course you are, I mean it’s an iconic outfit, how could I miss it? You really do look fantastic, where did you get the leather jacket at this late stage? You didn’t have an outfit planned, did you?”

“Martin?” She uncrossed herself from the doorway, crossed the room and put her hands on his shoulders, resting her fingers on his epaulettes before shifting her hands to straighten his tie ever-so-slightly. “If I say you look good, and you say you look like you always do, I think that means you _always_ look good.”

The flush darkened. He could feel it running through his ears now, the slow pulse of his blood as she carried on fussing with his clothes for a bit longer, and maybe if he leant down, he could press his lips to hers and-

“Martin? Are you listening to me?”

He blinked, snapping out of his daydream. “No, what? I mean, yes… of course I am… I-No. What did you say?”

“I said, tonight, I want to see you have fun. And no, you don’t look like an idiot.” She prodded the little insignia on his jacket and he felt the press of her finger right down to his bones. “You look like Captain Martin Crieff. Just like you always do.”

“I-I-” He took a deep breath and went to lean forward, hoping against hope that she would let him… do something. He didn’t really know what it was going to be until he did it, but it would be nice, he was sure.

“Come on, Martin.” She patted his lapels quietly, tugged at his tie again and pulled away, immediately leaving a cold space all the way down Martin’s chest. “Otherwise Callum will take over the music and we’ll be left with…” Shuddering dramatically, she rolled her eyes, “Whatever passes for music nowadays.”

“Nowadays?” Now Martin was following her, frowning and curious, “What? You’re definitely no older than twenty.”

“Twenty two thank you. Gap year, deferred entry, second year with an early birthday.”

“That’s a lot of things to be.” He smiled, but it faltered as he tilted his head and did a quick calculation in his head. “You’re twenty two?” _I’m thirty three._ “Really?” _Tell me you’re older. I want you to be older. So we can._

“That I am,” she grinned. “I’m _also_ Indiana Jones. I’ve got a whip, no funny business.” But she winked, and that made it okay. He was sure that the wink made it all a joke.

“Have you been drinking already?”

“We’re students. It’s what we do, sweetheart.” Another wink and she turned on her heel to head back downstairs. “Coming?”

Nodding, he followed her quietly, watching the trousers pull across her backside and feeling that ever-present flush darken across his face.

“Hey!” She turned on the stairs and laughed as she wobbled. “Stop staring at my arse!”

He choked on his own breath and, with a dry mouth and twisted tongue, tried to apologise.

“No! No! I mean… not ‘no I won’t stop staring at your bum!’ I mean… I’m not staring at it! Not that I don’t want to,” _Martin, I have a metaphorical shovel. Would you like it to dig that metaphorical hole?_ “I mean, it’s nice in those trousers, and I-” he stopped again, “I’m sorry. I have an incredible knack at offending people.”

“Shut up, silly.” She laughed and shook her head, “We’re all… friends here.”

“No, we’re not. Let’s not be naïve about this.” A small frown. “They hate me.”

“No!” She laughed again, hopping back up the stairs to stand one below him. “Trust me; _they_ see _you_ as a threat.”

 _Now Martin was laughing._

“A _threat_? Me? I can barely string a sentence together. I’m… I’m _boring_! I can’t even look at a pretty girl without going bright pink and I haven’t been kissed in-” Another halting sentence, another pause and his eyes hit the floor again. “They think _I’m_ a threat?”

“Oh, you are funny. Of course they do.” She stopped. “In…?”

“A while, alright? A… long while.” He sighed again. “I don’t want to get into this now. You said I should have fun, right?” He sounded more hopeful than he felt, at least… He hoped that he did. His chest hurt a bit, everything pointing to the idea that she had just told him no, that he had been dropped into cardboard box labelled _forever friends_ , and that…

“Yes, you should. Come on.” She grabbed his hand then, and practically ran off, dragging him down the stairs with a shriek of laughter as she tripped – _Martin barely keeping her upright with a well-timed jerk of his arm to pull her back up and against his chest –_ losing her hat and almost dropping the whip as she stumbled. “Thank you!” She span in his arms and giggled right in his face, smelling of lemonade and the sharp tang of alcohol as she pulled away.

“You’re mad, you are.”

“Yep!” She turned, giggling and beckoned him toward her. _Brilliant._ This was going to turn into a game of cat and mouse and he wasn’t sure if he was up to it. _He wanted to be,_ there was no doubt about that, because she… well, she seemed to _like_ him, and that… that meant a lot. “Come on, Martin. What’re you drinking?”

.  
.  
.

He tugged at his hair and frowned, before replacing his cap and poking at the insignia on his pocket with a frown.

“No, I’m a captain. Pilot. I fly for a living.”

“What, you run, flap and hope?”

 _Stay calm, Martin. They’re drunk. They’re really really drunk._ He tried to stay cheerful, but he was nowhere near as intoxicated as the people around him, and it was starting to make his head spin. Somewhere, he caught sight of a phone, or something electronic – _vaguely he wondered if it was the cooker –_ and saw that it was gone one in the morning. Heart suddenly racing – a pickup at six and then they were flying to Faro at nine - he set his glass down and slipped his cap back on his head, sniffing at it as it went up. _Urgh. Cigarettes and alcohol. And there hadn’t been any cigarettes in the house!_ He’d have to air it on the ledge outside his window and hope it didn’t rain in the next few hours.

Sighing, he shook his head again, hoping that the smell of smoke wouldn’t cling to his hair as he stepped over somebody sat on the floor with their legs stretched out, looked again and smirked as he realised that _Sullen_ had passed out on the floor, and now had permanent pen all over his face. People were starting to leave, and he watched a pleasantly drunk _Angry_ usher them out of the door, nodding to him as he made small talk and locked the front door behind them.

“Good night?” Martin asked as he got to the stairs and they crossed paths.

“Been drunker, definitely. But I’ve had worse nights.” There was a pause, and Martin filled it with the only thing they had in common.

“Did you see Helene at any point?”

“She was talking to a couple of girls from Robbie’s course.” _Angry-er…_ Callum, pointed at _Sullen…_ Robbielaid out on the floor and laughed, “and then… I don’t know.” A small silence and the slow smirk spread across Callum’s face as he looked up at Martin. “ _Oh_.”

“Oh? Oh? There’s no… _Oh_ about it.” Martin could feel his face getting hot again.

“Yes, there is.” Callum paused and grinned, “She might have gone up to her room, if not; I don’t have a clue…”

“Er, all right. Well, I’ll check on her, and make sure she’s not dead.” _That came out wrong_. “Well, I’ll make sure she’ll be… I’ll…”

“Check on her?”

“Yeah. That. Um, night.”

Callum’s chuckles sounded out behind him as he climbed the stairs, mindful of the occasionally abandoned bottle, or the half-filled glasses that were tucked away in every corner. Well, some corners. Well, one corner. Well, in the corner of the first landing, and there was one bottle.

“Hello?” He knocked twice on the door marked _Helene_ by a large piece of paper. “Helene, I wanted to make sure you were alrig-oh.” There was nobody in the bed – that much was obvious – the covers were flat and the bed was neatly made, though Martin very nearly yelled out at the sheer mess of papers that covered the floor.  “Helene?”

 _Silence. Maybe she was in the bathroom?_ Maybe you missed your chance. _Maybe she was passed out in a corner downstairs?_ Maybe she left with one of the blokes off her course. _Maybe-_

Martin sighed as he pulled her bedroom door closed and carried on upstairs, trying to stay quiet because he supposed that Callum was on his way to bed as well. He practically tiptoed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and gave a cursory wash of his face – he’d shower in the morning, it wouldn’t make much difference, considering it would only be about four hours sleep anyway.

Pushing his door open, and jamming his jacket and cap outside, he stumbled about in the darkness for a bit before flicking his bedside lamp on. Turning to climb into bed, he let out a really rather unmanly shriek, gasping as he saw the familiar-shaped lump under his covers.

“Helene?” he whispered, before kneeling down on his mattress and gently tapping her on the shoulder, “Can you hear me?” There was a low purr and her hand tightened on the bed covers, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Helene, are you alright?”

“Tired,” came the eventual reply, before she turned over again, clearly still rather tipsy, “’V’left a note.” A sluggish raise of her arm and a gesture to the pillow beneath her head.

“Okay. You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Because that was all he needed. _Wait. Was she wearing underwear under there?_ “Because I don’t want to leave you if you’re going to throw up.”

“’M’fine,” she groaned. “Sorry.” There was a beat of silence. “Really sorry.” She shifted again, and he couldn’t help but smile as he spied the little note she had written laid out on his pillow. Carefully extricating it from a tangle of her hair, he grinned at the shaky handwriting and let his hand drop down to brush against her shoulder. She sighed and made a noise, before rolling onto her side and immediately dropping back to sleep.

 _Captain,_  
 _Sorry I’m in ~~youre~~ your bed, but it was loud downstairs, and your bed is nice and quiet. And you’re nice and you won’t mind. I’ll clean your bed sheets for you._  
 _Indy_.

Martin grinned; he was so tired that he could barely think straight, but this was just… _lovely_ , there was no other word for it. He shoved the note into his pocket, and, as quietly and as slowly as possible, he gathered everything he’d need tomorrow morning for their pickup, and started to tiptoe back downstairs to sleep in Helene’s bedroom. She wouldn’t mind, he supposed, since she was curled up in his. He tapped the bedside lamp off and left.

 _But not before stopping at the end of the bed and making sure her feet were tucked in._


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur believes that Martin may have turned into Martha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prettily beta'd by @Spazlock (ooh, a name change!)

“You’ll never believe this!” And no, people probably wouldn’t – although it _was_ Arthur talking, and he had the uncanny ability to be genuinely _awful_ at lying. “There’s a woman in Skip’s bed!”

“Did you get the right room?” He nodded as his mother spoke. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, because you know,” Douglas supplied with a smirk, “there are students in that house, and students – _not Martin –_ are notorious for having women in their beds.”

“Well, yes. They told me that it was Skip’s room, and then… well, then…” And anyone could have charted the moment that the next thought occurred to Arthur. His eyes went wide and the grin that spread across his face was positively ridiculous, “The thing is… well, maybe Skip _turned_ ___into a woman!?”_ He stopped and looked between his mother and Douglas. “You know. Like that bug in that story, well, he was a man before he was a bug. That’s the right order.”

“Which story?” Carolyn asked before she could stop herself, then, “Wait, no, no, I don’t think I have the strength. It’s barely seven in the morning, and we’re late as it is.”

“Well, I can’t remember anyway.”

“Thank _god_ for that.”

“Yes, yes, anyway, as it is, Arthur, I sincerely doubt that Martin has turned into Martha.” Carolyn smirked. “Again.”

“Well, yes, but it was definitely _his_ room. I didn't get it mixed up like that last time with the woman with no clothes on who called the police!” Arthur banged his hands petulantly on the roof of the taxi, earning himself a glare from both his mother and the driver.

“Yes, well you probably shouldn't have popped up at the _window_ asking if she was ready to go.”

“But I met a _brilliant_ guy named Buck who said he traded with hooks for a living!”

“No, Arthur, I don't think that's _quite_ what he meant.” Douglas jumped in, grinning. “He probably-” But Carolyn cut him off with a nudge to the ribs.

“Douglas, he still thinks that a stork brought him to my door. Explaining what a hooker is probably isn't on.”

 _Arthur, on the other hand, was utterly oblivious and rather enjoying himself standing by the side of the car._

“Oh no. But this time I wasn't at the window. I was in the room. By the bed. Poking the body. It… _she…_ groaned.”

“What groaned?” Martin came jogging down the driveway, bright red and obviously fresh from a rushed shower. He was ruffling his hair as he tucked his hat under his arm, and Arthur grinned.

“The woman, Skip. Your woman. I mean, unless it was you, though she had considerably more hair than I would expect you to successfully grow.”

“No, Arthur. Helene is not my woman, and I don't know what you're trying to imply by it, but nothing Happened.”

“Well, nobody expected anything to happen,” Douglas supplied from the front seat, smirking. “Because she's imaginary.”

“Imaginary?” There was a pause. “No, she definitely isn't, Douglas.” Arthur grinned, “I poked her, and everything.”

“Getting better at lying, Arthur?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head frantically, “I’m really not.”

“Very good...” Douglas cocked an eyebrow at Martin as he continued, “Helene? Like Hele ** _na_** , as in the woman that _I_ am married to?” He paused, “Very _very_ good, in fact. Clever.”

“But she’s _real_ , Douglas. She really is upstairs in my bed, if you must know.” There was a pause and three pairs of eyes bored into Martin’s as he choked and flushed red over the words. “It’s not what it sounds like, I mean, she… I… she _lives_ with me.”

There was silence through the taxi as he climbed in, sat down and folded his arms. All too soon, however, Douglas broke the unnatural quiet with one unstoppable question.

“Well, well, well. Is _Sir_ living in sin?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you just said that… _Helene,_ lives with you.” Douglas smirked, “Which would lead us all to believe that, as a healthy red-blooded male, and a somewhat deluded, but assuming willing partner, you would be doing certain things which would-”

“Hang on, I thought you said she didn’t exist! First she doesn’t exist and then they’re living in… what’s living in _Sin_ exactly, Mum?”

“Just be quiet and enjoy the moment, Arthur. It’s quite often that Martin goes red, but never this exciting shade of crimson.”

“I’m not finding this funny!” Martin was protesting and playing with the braiding on his cap all at once, looking for all the world like a petulant child, caught trying to go outside and play in the rain. “If anything it’s more than slightly offensive!”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Martin; you can’t be offended by a concept that can’t happen.”

“Sorry?”

“You can’t live in sin if this hypothetical woman is merely that. _Hypothetical_.”

“She’s _not_ hypothetical. She’s not imaginary and she’s not, before you say it, my bit on the side. She’s Helene and she’s beautiful and I really wish you’d _just shut up_.” Martin shoved his cap further into his lap and crossed his arms over it with a scowl. “Leave me alone.”

“Well.” After another extended pause, Carolyn spoke into the stunned silence of the taxi. “I think we ought to be making a move? We have to fly in a few hours, so I think it best that we make a move.” She glared at the driver. “ _Move_.”

.  
.  
.

The flight deck was unnaturally muted as First Officer and Captain prepared for take-off and transporting… well, Martin hadn’t bothered asking this time. In fact, it was beginning to bother Arthur and Carolyn with the sheer _silence_ of it all. Normally, there was a word game going, a joke being shared – even just Martin being teased.

Silence was just… _wrong._

“Can’t you chaps say something?” Arthur asked the fourth time he came into contact with them, this time providing coffee and teeny-tiny biscuits. “It’s awfully quiet in here, you know.”

“No.” Martin huffed, breathing quietly over his coffee and sipping at it. “Blimey, this is hot.”

“It’s fresh. Instant.” Arthur grinned. “But instantly fresh.”

 _“Brilliant.”_ Martin groaned, looking at his watch – the Patek Philipe had been long abandoned in favour of a simple digital specimen – and wondering if he ought to call the house and see if Helene had woken up at all that morning. “Just _great.”_

“Tea for you, Douglas.”

“Thank you.” There was a snort and he looked over at Martin, glowering in his chair. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… _nothing_.” The scowl lit his face once more and he turned way, staring back out of the windscreen and sighing. “Time to landing?”

“Approximately forty-five minutes.”

“Will it be quiet in here for all that time?” Arthur interjected quickly. “Because if it is, this flight just got _really boring._ ”

“As opposed to the last two hours, in which we haven’t said more than two words to each other at a time? What entertained you then?”

“Oh, mum got the DVD player fixed. I watched a film. It wasn’t very good, all talking and things, but it passed the time. And there were boats, so that was alright.” He shrugged.

There was an awkward pause.

“So, erm...”Arthur spoke, fiddling with his shirt uncomfortably. “Nice weather for flying, isn’t it?”

Martin glanced up at Arthur before turning to glare at Douglas. "If you're looking for conversation, Arthur, then take up your grievances with the man who decided to make fun of something that wasn't his business."

“None of my busin- _Arthur_ brought it up!” Twisting in his chair, Douglas scowled at Arthur and folded his arms, “You were the one that suggested Martin here had turned into _Martine.”_

“Really? Martine? That’s awful, Douglas. Surely you could have come up with a better one?”  Martin’s lips quirked as he looked over at them. “You didn’t have to call her imaginary. She’s not, you know.” He frowned and pressed his lips back into the firm line they’d been in since take-off.

“It’s not that I _don’t_ believe you, Martin, it’s just that, _well,_ with your track record, your inability to actually talk to women, and your all-consuming hobby, well, it just _doesn’t_ seem _likely_ that you had a real, living woman in your bed this morning. Anyway, why weren’t _you_ in there with her?”

“She was… drunk.”

“And?”

“Well, she was _drunk,_ Douglas. I couldn’t just climb into bed next to her and let her think god-only-knows in the morning, could I?”

“… _Yes.”_

 ** _“Douglas!”_** Martin went bright pink and shook his head. “I… couldn’t.” He paused before continuing, “I sort-of slept in her bed, and then… I don’t know, I just left her a note this morning when I left, and she was still breathing then but I’m a little bit worried about her to be honest, I mean, she could be… well, ill.”

Douglas quirked an eyebrow. “Ill? Wha-Oh, hungover?”

“No, I genuinely thought she might throw up last night and I’m a bit worried that she might have choked or something but I don’t want to hassle anyone, and I don’t exactly have their numbers to call them and her phone could be anywhere and I don’t even have her number but I left the number for the Satcom and I wondered if she’d call but maybe she won’t and I’ll have to check on her when we’re back in Fitton, but-” he heaved a breath and sighed, “I just don’t know.”

“Don’t know what, Skip?” And at the sound of Arthur’s voice, Martin jumped about a foot into the air.

“Oh, Arthur? You’re… _still here?”_ Martin stared for a little longer, then answered, slowly, “I don’t know… what I’m doing.”

“Perhaps, within your _infinite_ skill with women, she might not have actually realised you...”

“I...?” He looked up hopefully. “I... think I do.” Another hesitation. “Leaving me absolutely in the same place that I was before - not knowing what I'm doing.”

“Well,” Arthur started ponderously, “you can always giver her flowers, Skip!”

“Me? With flowers? On my budget I can't even afford the ones in the petrol station across the street from the post office.”

“You could write her poetry.”

“Or you could, heaven forbid, _actually_ begin by letting her know you're interested and not just the insane pilot upstairs.” Douglas paused for a moment, before, “Oh, yes, I'm talking to you. Perhaps that might not be the best idea if you'd like her to find out this _decade_.”

“Well then,” Martin groaned, “what am I supposed to _do_?”

“Well, Martin, what do you _want_ to do?” Douglas waggled his eyebrows and Arthur was momentarily distracted by attempting to copy him.

“Well… I don’t really… I’d rather not… I…” His flush was now at a dangerous level of red, and for a moment, Douglas worried that his Captain might burst a capillary.

“Maybe you could… as much as I hate to say it, _act it out?”_

“Like **_Charades?_** ” And now Arthur was listening.

“Yes, Arthur, just like charades.”

“Oh, _brilliant!_ Can I go first?”

“No, Arthur. I think the entire point of this game is so that Martin can get everything he needs to get off his chest… off his chest.”

 _And so, the word games began._ The silence was lifted, and the amiable chatter between Arthur and Douglas as they threw words at Martin – from the inoffensive _‘date her?’_ to the horrendously inappropriate ‘ _shag her six ways from Sunday?’_ that Douglas asked moments before the Satcom began to ring.

“Hello?” He tapped the buttons quickly. “MJN Air, First Officer Richardson speaking.”

 _“So basically, Skipper, you want to date her, among other things?”_ Arthur spoke as the line crackled into life. The deafening pause that followed lead Douglas to believe that only one person could be on the other end of the phone.

“ _First Officer_ Richardson, is, by _any_ chance, Captain Crieff available?”

 _Well, this was going to be awkward._


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin does not appreciate Douglas' snide remarks.
> 
> In which the phone rings, it's answered and there are charades of all kinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prettily Beta'd by @Spazlock  
> Ah, bien, Thank you for the hits'un'bookmarks'un'kudos. <3

“Hello?” He tapped the buttons quickly. “MJN Air, First Officer Richardson speaking.” ****

 **** _“So basically, Skipper, you want to date her, among other things?”_ Arthur spoke as the line crackled into life. ****

 ****“First Officer Richardson, is, by any chance, Captain Crieff available?” ****

 ****_Well, this was going to be awkward._

 ...

 

 

“I'll… I’ll just check. I think they're on film, three words, third word “buggered” at this point. He may be a while.”

“... Okay.”

Suddenly the flight deck was a series of frantic gestures, Arthur bouncing up and down in his seat as he tried to work out what all of the sudden interest in charades was in aid of.

 _Say something!_

 _No! How am I supposed to-_

 _If you don’t, I’ll do it for you!_  - Which effectively stunned Martin into speaking aloud.

“H-hello, this is C-captain Martin Crieff speaking.” Wobbly voice. High pitch. _Brilliant, Martin, you’re going to be fine. Fine, that is, if you intend to run away for the rest of your life, because this is humiliating stuff._

“Hello, Captain. Doctor Jones, here. You asked me to call.”

“Who?... wait, I don't-”

“It's Helene.” She dropped the pretence, and if anything, at the mention of her name, Martin tensed even further and let out a high-toned yelp that possibly only dogs could hear. “I hope it’s alright that I called… You put the number on that lovely note you left on my forearm?”

“Oh...right. Hello.”

“You said that before.” It was obvious, the smile on her face trickling into her voice.

“Yes,” He cleared his throat again, “Well, _Hello_.”

“Hello, Martin.” Douglas added in lowly, earning a glare from the embarrassed captain.

“Hello, Lady-I-Found-In-Skip’s-Bed!” As Arthur spoke, Martin’s eyes widened and there was an immediate and distinct aura of panic colouring him both grey and pink.

“Oh god. I wasn't dreaming that?” And now Martin was blue in the face, and Helene was groaning from the other end of the phone.

“No, that was me! Surprised me a bit, given that Skip isn't a woman and you are and for a bit you were imaginary...”

“Do I really want to know?” She muddled out desperately, attempting to cut the lunatic off before he got on a roll.

“No, honestly, I don't think you do.” _Snarky remarks from Douglas, there._ Martin buried his head into one hand and when he resurfaced, the look of determination on his face was… _terrifying._

 _“Thank you for your input, Douglas. Didn't you say that you wanted a cup of tea?”_

“No, no, I'm fine.” _Toothy grin._

“I think _Arthur_ wanted one, though.” _Jerk of the head_.

“No, Skip, I just made you one, don't you remember?” _Raised fist, turning into Martin slamming his head onto the controls._

“Oh, godhelpme.”

“God isn't here, Martin. Just your first officer, your cabin crew... and your bedfellow.” Martin was going to kill Douglas. Never mind that he would probably not die, given his magical, slippery ability, but he was going to kill him anyway.

“She's not my bedfellow,” he muttered testily.

“ _She's_ on the other end of the line, thank you very much!” Helene jumped in with the growl of a small tiger. “And _she_ can hear every word you’re saying!”

“On behalf of MJN Air, I'd like to personally apologize-”

“Douglas!” Martin's colour had now crossed the range of pinks and reds and was further into purple than he'd ever been before. “Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence-”

“For our incapable captain-”

 _“WHO IS RIGHT HERE AND I CAN TELL HER I LIKE HER ON MY BLOODY OWN! OH GOD.”_

“Once again, Captain Crieff, God appears to have abandoned you. Now, Arthur. Let's go and see about that tea.”

Without any further teasing or ceremony, Douglas clapped his hand down on Martin’s shoulder and grinned at him, before ushering Arthur out of the flight deck and leaving Martin staring after them, gaping like a fish.

“Martin?” The silence on the line was more than awkward. “Martin, you're not dead, are you?”

“… No?”

“Oh, thank god,” she laughed, and when she spoke next, what she said seemed so left field that Martin couldn’t help but frown at the monitor, “Well, since we’re coming out with confessions, I’ve been awake for four hours now, and I haven’t really had the inclination to move from your bed.”

“What’ve you been doing?” He asked, in spite of his suddenly trembling hands.

“Lazing? I attempted to fish my phone out of my trousers with my feet, which was quite entertaining, since you’d left the window open and the bedroom was so cold that I didn’t really want to get out of the covers. Which I’ll wash, by the way, I promise.”

“No, no, you don't have to!” _Because then the covers will smell like you_. “I mean, I'm perfectly capable of doing it-”

“Of course, I might just go back to sleep, and laze here a bit longer – you know, be here when you get back.” She paused and there was a noticeable rustle of duvet fabric. “You know, if you’d like?”

“If-If I'd... you'd... you'll... In my bed?”

“Well, I suppose so.” She paused. “Unless there’s some kind of teleportation device in here that I should be careful of?”

“We...we haven't even been on a date yet!”

“Yes...” She trailed off, “But when you get back, we could... maybe order in, and watch a film?”

“O-order in?” He pulled a face awkwardly, thankful that the Satcom didn't have a screen. _Could he afford a take-away?_

“Yeah, unless, you know, you don't want to. I mean, we don't have to-”

“NO! I mean...have you ever been to Duxford?”

“Duxford? The air museum? No? Why?”

“You've heard of the museum then?”

“Well, yes, it has some of Britain’s finest decommissioned aircraft. We're supposed to go for our course, the History of Aviation module, but I've just never... I don't know, had anyone to go with.”

“ _Oh God, marry me_.” A second after it left his mouth Martin panicked. “I mean... no, I mean, don't say anything to that, don't respond to that, I didn't mean it. I mean... I did mean it, but... I... Oh god. Maybe someday, but...”

“Are you trying to say 'we should go there on a date?', or are you proposing?” She was giggling at the other end of the line.

“Yes! To the first one, not the second, though maybe, you know after a date or two or three...”

“ _Martin_. Take a deep breath, and tell me what you want to do later.”

“ _I_ would... _like_ to take _you_...to _Duxford_. For a _date_.” He was really proud of himself that he'd managed to get it out, all in order, with the right emphasis and no accidental proposals.

“I am absolutely up for that,” she said. “But it's November. Because of their winter hours… don’t they close at three?”

“Oh, bloody hell-”

“Alright, how does this sound, Martin? It's Sunday tomorrow, right?”

“Yes?”

“How about... we go tomorrow?” She hesitated, “But still watch a film tonight?”

“You _really_ want to watch a film, don't you?”

“I _really_ don't want to get out of bed, Martin.”

“Oh well I suppose we could work around that...?”

“I think so.” A moment of silence at the end of the line. “What time will you be back, do you think?”

“About six, I think?”

“Okay. I can wait five hours.”

“So, I'll see you later, then?” He hoped his voice was level, but had resigned himself to the fact that it most probably wasn't. “Right?”

“Yes, Martin. You might be lucky; I might have showered by then.”

“Oh, brilliant!” He squeaked out a laugh, and there was another second of silence. “Well, then, talk to you later.”

“Bye, Martin.” A quiet click, and the Satcom cut out.

Minutes later, Douglas and Arthur walked back into the flight deck to be met with a Captain who was sat stiffly in his chair, back tense, head hanging in heavy in his hands, muttering and shaking his head.

“Stupid,” he was hissing. “Bloody stupid.”

“She say no?” Douglas sat down next to him and reached a hand over to brush against his shoulder. “Because there’ll be other housemates, Martin, and other girls, and other-”

“I _proposed,_ Douglas. I opened my mouth, asked her to Duxford and then I _proposed._ As in _asked her to Marry Me, Douglas.”_

“And she said…?”

“She laughed,” Martin groaned, “a hell of a lot, and then… well, she…” he shook his head again, groaning and flailing just a little bit, “what am I supposed to do?”

“What do you mean, Martin?”

“Well… she still agreed to… go-go out with me, Douglas.” At that point, Martin looked up, and on his face was a mixture of horror and triumph, genuinely fearing both her reaction and Douglas’ next words. “I looked like an idiot and now what do I do because she wants to go out with me and I-I-I… I think I’m going to be sick-” He heaved and Douglas reared back like a spooked horse. “Urgh. Oh, god, Douglas, what do I do?”

“I’m afraid, Martin,” And now Douglas was grinning, but gently patting Martin on the shoulder. “That I haven’t got a clue.” There was a pause, “Though if she’s… somehow still agreed to go out with you, then you’re doing something right.” He didn’t have to add the _for once_ that hung in the air around them.

“I suppose.” And Martin let out another groan, shaking his head and moaning quietly as he looked back up at them. “I… er… I have to ask you something though.”

“What?”

“It’s maybe… a favour?”

“Okay…”

“Well, she sort of suggested that we had takeout for dinner tonight and then maybe I said we should go to Duxford tomorrow and I don’t know but I don’t think I can afford both at the moment and maybe if you were so inclined you’d be able to lend me…” He paused and shook his head, his face going bright red for a good few seconds, “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I can do food. I’ll sort it out.”

“ _Martin_.” Douglas was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Douglas?”

“I’ll expect it back after your next delivery, but here’s twenty quid.”

 _If anyone were to describe Martin’s face at that exact moment? Lit up like a child at Christmas would just about cover it._

“Thankyou, Douglas! Thank you so much! Honestly, I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can, I swear.”

“Alright, Martin. Although, I hate to spend my money in vain, so at least buy her something nice tonight?”

“Yes…. I definitely will. I really, really will. Thank you, seriously, thank you.”

.  
.  
.

He got back at seven – an hour later than expected because Arthur had somehow managed to set fire to the accounts in Carolyn’s office and... well, it was _most definitely_ up to the captain of the airline to deal with that kind of thing. Or, more accurately, Carolyn had threatened to cut his winter bonus (which was meagre anyway) to a pittance if he hadn’t wielded the fire extinguisher.

By the time he was stood on the stairs outside his bedroom door, Martin reeked of smoke, had a stress-headache and was desperate to eat something and fall the hell asleep, as fast as he possibly could. Then he realised exactly who was on the other side of the door and the stress-headache turned into pure nerves.

His hands were shaking and his palms felt like they were on fire. Or they were melting ice. Or they had just come out of the English Channel. Or something. He wasn’t sure; words were beginning to fail him as he felt his legs propelling him forward. With two soft knocks on the door, he waited for a second to see if she would respond.

 _Nothing. She’s left you, Martin, before it’s even started. It’s happening all over again._

“H-hello?” Another pause and he pushed the door open so softly that the usual creak was… _gone_? The room was cool – but not hatefully so – the window had obviously been open but as he looked over in the semi darkness, it was definitely closed. He glanced over at the bed and his face relaxed almost immediately. “Helene?” _No answer,_ “Helene, it’s Martin.”

A step closer, two more, and he found himself at the edge of his bed, staring down at the mess of curly hair that was covering his pillow, _his_ pillow, and letting his eyes trace along the lines of her body as she was stretched out under the covers.

She looked as if she was asleep, her eyes closed and a small smile playing on her face as she laid there, breathing evenly.

“I’m awake, you know,” she mumbled as he moved to stand at the end of the bed, and he nearly fell over from the shock of her voice. “I can almost _feel_ you staring.” Her eyes twitched open and she smiled, “I won’t bite.” There was a long pause, “And I promise I’ve showered, if you’d like to get in.” A flick of her hand as she gestured at the duvet, and he groaned, entirely unsure of the code of conduct he should use for the coming hours. Awkwardly, he shucked his jacket, hanging it up quickly and then toed his shoes off as he came to sit down beside her. “Very nice.” She groaned as she sat up and looked up into his face.

“Hello,” he managed to squeak out, “Nice day?”

“Very.” She winked, and he grinned as she very slowly lifted her hand to touch his cheek, “You?”

“Smokey.” He was going to say something wrong, any second. It was going to go wrong, “A-Arthur set fire to the office.”

“Oh, god!” She sat right up, her hands flying up to touch his cheeks, “Are you okay? Is… everyone alright?”

“Some paper bit the dust, well, actually, it was more like it caught fire and the entire place nearly went up but-” he laughed nervously, because her fingertips were slipping all over his cheeks, “but… that’s it.”

“Good.” She pulled back and really studied his face, her fingertips studying the angles and planes of his face as she watched his eyes crinkle. A gentle thumb brushed across the wrinkles and she smiled as his eyes fluttered closed. Each freckle was traced carefully, the soft pad of a fingertip as she traced underneath his eyes, and then she sighed, dropped her hands and Martin forgot how to breathe.

His eyes snapped open and his heart leapt into his mouth.

“What? What have I done?” His natural reaction was to panic, and he did it quickly, his fingers reaching out to twitch into the duvet next to her hip. “I don’t-”

“Breathe, Martin.” She murmured, “You have to breathe.” Another pause and she leaned forward again, her hand sliding up his forearm, and dragging down over his shoulders as he let out a small sigh. “Is that good?”

“Gentle,” He sighed, the tightness in his shoulders finally melting, for the first time in possibly thirty two years, “It’s nice.” His head dropped forward a few sweeps later, and she stopped, huffing a soft laugh, “Why’ve you-” Two fingers turned his head to make him look at her, and suddenly, he was shaking again, “I-I-I…”

“Breathe, Martin,” She repeated, before smiling quietly and lifting her hand to his cheek again. “And this time? Close your eyes.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Helene asks Martin to kindly shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, and a long time coming. Fix glaring errors soon. Or you know, point them out to me?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and leaned forward as her fingertips brushed against his cheek.  
  
“Wha-” And the rest of the sound was cut off by the movements of her lips against his. Taken utterly by surprise, his eyes flew open and his heart leapt into his mouth, as every word he’d ever said tried to leave it once again. “mmph-ghh-” Helene pulled back and looked at him curiously.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I can’t believe you – I didn’t expect – what did you just-” She giggled and shook her head.  
  
“I think I kissed you.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m sup-p-posed to do that, and you’re not supposed to laugh at me and I’m-you’re-I-” Flushed bright red, Martin shook his head violently and only stilled at the hand that pressed up against his cheek. “I don’t know wh-wh-wha-.” He whispered, “I’m not good at this.”  
  
“Which bit?” She whispered back, leaning in so her lips were only an inch or so from his, “Because we have time to practise. I’ll even help you, if you’d like?”  
  
“I would,” He nodded, knocking their foreheads together so that they both shot back, their hands flying to their faces to see if there had been any damage done. “Shit! Sorry, I-uhm, are you alright?”  
  
“I’ll live,” Another giggle, and this time he was frowning as he pulled her hand back and inspected the frown lines across her forehead, “You?”  
  
“I think so.” He smiled at her slowly, tilting his head to see if she had any more to say. “Can we… again?”  
  
“Silly thing.” She was nodding her head even as she called him silly, “Asking me if you can.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean, silly thing,” And there she scratched with her fingers at the space where her hand was resting on his shoulders, “You don’t have to ask.” She hesitated, “Well, if I’m in a lecture, then it would probably be a good idea, otherwise you’ll be texting me and for god’s sake if you say anything like that when I’m in a seminar the professor will want me to read it out and maybe that’s not the bes-”  
  
He kissed her.  
  
She shut up.  
  
That had been the plan, of course, to leave him with no way out of the awkward conversation about sending her flirty texts but to press his lips to hers. Given the chance he would have probably yelped a ‘shhhhh!’ as well, but he held that one in remarkably well.                  
  
“What was that for?” She frowned at him, though he could see the sudden smile in her eyes.  
  
“To shut you up,” He said quickly, trying to figure out how to play her game, “Because you were going to do that thing where you went on and on and w-we weren’t going to get anywhe-”  
  
 _Ah._  
  
She was tugging at his shoulder now, pulling him towards her, over her and he fell with a soft ‘umph’ as his hand sunk into the pillow, he realised their position and he freaked.  
  
Freaked. That wasn’t a bad term for it, actually, he launched up from his position, let out a yell of ‘Nono! Not yet!’ threw up his hands and kicked her in the shin – _accidentally, of course –_ before looking at her with huge, confused eyes. Helene’s immediate thought was of a lost, sad puppy, and she couldn’t help but let out the soft sound of surprise that engulfed her.  
  
“Oh.” She whispered, one hand fisting in her hair as she drew her knees up to her chest, “I… I’m sorry. I should have-I shouldn’t have… it was too much?”  
  
“A bit, yeah.” He wiped at his mouth quickly but shook his head, “Food?”  
  
“Food.” She nodded hesitantly, but then offered him her hand and squeezed tightly when they locked fingers. “Food could be good. Do you like Chinese? Or Indian? Or…”  
  
“What do you prefer?” He was looking anywhere but at her, his body most definitely not in the right… physical state to look at her. Into her eyes – probably a no, they’d be slightly glassy and the last time Martin had seen that… well, she’d been gone twenty four hours later – at her mouth, holy shit, that would never do, considering she would be kiss-reddened and probably be talking and he wouldn’t be able to hear her because he was in his head and he hated not thinking about the rest of the world but it was easier sometimes. It kept everyone out - mainly Douglas, who’s twenty quid was burning a hole in his pocket - and left him alone.  
  
Alone was better sometimes, though. Alone left him with less pain because he didn’t see the couples in the restaurant windows - and by restaurant, he meant McDonalds - and he didn’t have to experience the pitying glances that his family threw at him when they left him at the corner of Oak Tree Lane after Christmas.  
  
“That sounds fine,” he found himself saying, though seconds later Helene was gripping his wrist and making him look at her, “What?”  
  
“Did you hear a word of what I said?”  
  
“Yes! Yes, that’s why I was agreeing!”  
  
“To Beaver burger and deep fried ants.” She shook her head and pulled on his hands once, twice, a third time, looking straight into his eyes, “Come out of your head, Martin? It’s only me here, and I’m really not that hard to impress.”  
  
“Yes you are. Look at you.” She glanced down at herself and realised a little too late that he could probably see her bra, “I mean... you’ve waited all day to see a short, tired, _ginger_ pilot who’s probably not worth your time.”  
  
“Please be quiet.”  
  
“I can hardly afford dinner, I mean, I can afford it but I won’t leave much of the pattern on the plate, if you catch my drift, and then tomorrow I’ll end up driving you around in a shitty van, no doubt embarrassing you and leaving you wanting to be anywhere but in my company-”  
  
“Martin, please, shut up.” She clamped a hand across his mouth as she tugged her tank top up a couple of inches. He let out a muffled squeak and had the grace to look chastened as she pulled her fingers away and stared him down. “I spent all day in someone _I_ think is _pretty hot_ ’s bed. I’m going to have dinner with them - and I don’t care if I have to pay...” She hesitated, hoping that he would see where she was coming from, “and I tell you what, if you didn’t want to go to Duxford with me in the first place then... then I can just as easily get out of bed and let you get on with your evening? I mean, I’m sure I can think of something else to do.”  
  
“No! That’s... You know, you’re very hard to get around. Douglas would be proud of you, you know, and he doesn’t even know you.”  
  
“The smarmy posh one?”  
  
“The smarmy posh one.” He nodded mutely and offered her his hand. “I’m not trying to be... funny or anything. I’m genuinely saying that I’m nothing special.” _And that he’d both heard and said that enough for it to be true._  
  
“Who’s told you that?”  
  
 _Everyone._  
  
“A few people.”  
  
“Well... I...” _don’t know what to say without sounding clichéd and a little ridiculous, Martin,_ “I don’t do boring.” She paused, “That is to say... boring is not my thing. If I thought you were boring I’d probably not still be sat here and I certainly wouldn’t have rung you up this afternoon. I hope that was alright, by the way? I didn’t have your mobile number, and I figured that you’d not have it on while you’re flying anyway...”  
  
“I... uhm... my phone’s out of commission at the moment.” _Or I’m too ashamed to show it to you. I’ve seen you with your pretty android and it’s nothing compared to this. To be honest, it’s nothing compared to anything mad after 2004._  
  
“Oh. Right. Well, then I’d take your number but there’s really very little point, is there? I mean, if it’s out of commission, we’ll go and get you one that works.” She hesitated again, pulling away. “Or... I’ve got an old handset you can put your sim card into?”  
  
“I-I-I-” Martin stuttered repeatedly, looking at her for all the world as though she’d just sprouted a second head. Though he neither wanted nor, really, appreciated _charitable pity_ from the pretty girl in front of him, there was something inside of him that just wanted her to look after him. “ _Maybe.”_ He smiled at her, though his stomach was churning at the idea of having a phone that used to belong to her. It wasn’t something he disliked; just that kind of flippery feeling that came along once in a while that was like nerves, but not quite.   
  
“Lovely.” She smiled slowly, “Now, are you hungry? Because if I’m honest, I’ve not eaten all day and I’m wondering if it’s going to make me even more hung-over tomorrow.”  
  
“More hung-over?”   
  
“There’s a half bottle of wine we can drink, if you’d like. I’ll cool mine off with lemonade, but-”  
  
“That sounds lovely.” He cut in quickly, worried that she would start off on another rant, “If I go down to get it, would you like to order?”  
  
“Order?”  
  
“Food, Helene.” She made a face and nodded slowly, “Whatever you want is fine, I’ll eat pretty much anything so long as it doesn’t have strawberries in it.”  
  
“I sincerely doubt that either Chinese food or Indian is going to have strawberries in.”  
  
“You’d be surprised.” He smiled and rose slowly from the bed, offering his hand. She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “The menus are downstairs; I don’t keep a stack in my bedside cabinet.” He paused, “Or on my floor.”   
  
“Hey, everything’s neatly filed.” _Ish._ “I mean, _I_ know where it all is.” Rolling her eyes, she unfurled herself from his duvet and stepped out of the bed, taking his hand as he offered it again.  
  
“I won’t be installing you as my secretary any time soon, shall we say.” He let her go as she reached her bedroom and pulled at his arm. “Where are you going?”   
  
“Dressing gown, slippers, money.”  
  
“But you don’t have to-”  
  
“Yeah, erm, I’m not going downstairs dressed like this.” She gestured to the tank-top-and-shorts combination; “This is pyjamas, and it is cold in this house.”   
  
“Hang on.” He paused and pulled his jumper off, holding it out to her. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I’ve got my shirt on, and the undershirt, and this will probably smell of smoke, but-”  
  
“Thank you.” She was blushing and he was smiling just a little bit, because it wasn’t that often that he got to see somebody else blush because of him, because he’d made it happen and she wasn’t looking away and she wasn’t pulling away either. Carefully, she took the jumper from his hands and pulled it over her head. “Still warm,” she smiled slowly. “Thank you.”   
  
“Well, it’s the least I could do.” He grinned right back and offered her his hand again, “Come on, otherwise we won’t get to bed until gone two in the morning.”   
  
As it was, they didn’t.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they don't make it to Duxford. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typically this is late and it shouldn't be, but life got in the way.  
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, you're all very lovely. 
> 
> Unbeta'd but there will be more on the way.

She hesitated as she set down her glass of water, curled back up under the brown covers that looked a lot softer than they were. Martin had his head on her chest, and was settled somewhere between snoring loudly and making soft little snuffling noises that sounded as though they belonged far more to her pet hedgehog than they would to a fully grown man.

“Martin?” She nudged him lightly, “Martin I can’t feel my shoulder.” A grunt, low and barely audible but it was there again as she pressed her palm to his forehead and pushed so that he rolled back and away from her.

“Huh? Wh-“ He yawned and opened his eyes sleepily, “What time is it?”

“Four.”

“In the afternoon? ‘S very dark.” She chuckled as he stumbled about for the bedside lamp, his hand patting her arm, nearly knocking over her glass of water and finally settling on the switch as he slumped across her. “Sorry, sorry. Sorry… uhm, sorry.”

“Stop that. It’s four in the morning, Captain.” His arm tensed as he tried to work out whether she was making fun of him or whether she was using his title as a term of endearment. “I can’t sleep.”

“What! Oh, no, I’m sorry, is the bed uncomfortable?” He stopped dead, “Why are you in my bed? H-How did you end up in my bed? Did I drink more wine than you did? Wine tends to make me a little bit, erm… handsy, so I should probably apologise now, because that’s not very nice, is it?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t you remember falling asleep?” She stretched and shifted, trying to get out from under his weight. “I can’t move, Martin. Let me move?”

“Huh? Oh! God! Sorry! Sorry!” Hesitating, he wasn’t sure whether to sit up or roll away from her, instead ending up sort-of rolling onto her legs and pinning her to the bed. “Sorry!”

“Sit up, Martin.” She was patient, though it was more a case of exhaustion over a willingness to look after his feelings. “Come on, let me up.” He rolled away slowly and looked up at her as she stood to her feet.

“Are you going back downstairs?”

“Probably. If you don’t want me in your bed, you know, if you think you’ll get handsy.”

“No, no, it would be nice if you stayed.” He smiled slightly, still nervous that she would hop away and leave. “I mean, if you want to. I won’t make you.” He tilted his head and smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

“Martin.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” She stretched out. “My leg is asleep and I’m pretty sure my arm is dead and I need the bathroom.” She didn’t need to add an ‘ _I won’t be long’._ As she moved down the first set of stairs, from the attic to the second floor, she risked a glance behind her but wasn’t met with a pair of eyes staring at her owlishly from the doorway.

 _Good._ If he had followed her to the bathroom she might have killed him. She liked Martin – enjoyed his company, enjoyed his smile, his face and, if she could stop him rattling on about flying and planes, then she would have to admit that she enjoyed his words. He was very eloquent when he knew she was listening to what he was saying – when she broke past the stuttering with a gentle hand reassuring him that she was listening – and when she started a debate about wine, though he confessed he knew very little she was thrilled to learn about the people who did know a lot about it – one First Officer Douglas Richardson, who, apparently, Martin held so high as a father figure.

_Though he’d sworn her to secrecy about that so he can’t have really meant her to know about it._

As she left the bathroom and made a cursory check downstairs, checking the front door, the back door, the kitchen windows and pulling a bottle of water from her shelf in the fridge, downing it in three huge gulps, she heard Callum’s throat clear behind her.

“Feeling okay?”

“Alright, yeah.”

“He is treating you alright? He’s a lot older than you, Helene… and he doesn’t have many social skills.” She shook her head.

“He’s not simple, Callum, he’s nervous. Doesn’t help that ninety percent of the time you’re a dick to him.” A pause between them where she put her water bottle into the recycling bin and looked back up at him. “Be a bit nicer, and maybe you’ll get something out of it. I mean…” She paused again, “He is really nice, you know. I really like him.”

“And for that you’re mad, but hey, I won’t complain so long as you keep him quiet about the planes.”

“He’s got me to talk to, Callum, it’s fine. I’ll talk him dry.” She laughed softly then let a small smirk cross her face, “I can even ask him whether I could take apart his engine.”

“Alright, you filthy slut,” He chuckled, “no shop talk at the kitchen table. You just make sure he treats you alright, okay?”

“Yeah, alright, Callum. I will.” She smiled and slipped out of the kitchen again, entirely unaware of the eyes that watched her from the living room door. The eyes that had heard her defend him, that had followed her down from his room and listened as she said that _he wasn’t simple. That he was just nervous._ That he mattered to her.

And, what was possibly most important, _I really like him._

_._

_._

_._

When Martin had successfully bypassed the guard dog at the top of the first floor landing – Callum, who stood on two legs but sort of looked like a pug – crossed to the bathroom for a cursory flush of the toilet and trudged up the stairs to find Helene in his bed, he was also entirely surprised to see that she had fallen asleep in his bed. _Again._

“This is becoming a habit,” he quipped to himself, letting his face break into a tired smile, “and good habits are bad to break… o-or something.”

“Be quiet. You’re very funny but you’re also making my back cold. Get in.” Her voice was a mumble in reply to his slight squeak of surprise. “Hmm… you’re... warm.” And she was cuddling back against his chest and into a position they probably shouldn’t have been given their… well, the only word for it was _intimacy_ , had only been apparent and functioning for half a day. If not less.

So, he did what Martin Crieffs do best. He froze.

“U-uuhh, Helene? Wh-what are you doing? Y-you’re… getting a bit close, aren’t you? I mean… I-I mean…”

“Mhhhnnnh.” She had dropped off in the midst of her wriggling and was, by the sounds of it, fast asleep. “Shh, baby. I need… hmm..you.” And in that moment a thousand things undid across the five-foot seven frame of Martin Crieff. A thousand little threads that said _pointless, lonely, and pathetic_ and countless other things (though let’s be honest, nine hundred and ninety seven, and of course some were repeated), sort of unravelled themselves and Martin relaxed. It wasn’t much relaxation, nothing like the malleable sleep that came from the aftermath of masturbation, or the surprising bonelessness which came after a scary landing and a safe touchdown, but it was a start that he was surprised to receive.

“Night, Helene.” He touched her cheek as she curled up on her side, smiled and pulled the covers up to his chin.

.

.

.

That was pretty much all Martin could remember before the violent shaking started.

“Martin, get up, we’re late-”

“No, Carolyn, I don’t want to fly, I’m tired.”

“Oi! I’m not your boss!” She dug him in the ribs and chuckled loudly as he writhed like a child, his arms flailing and twining into the covers until he was throwing himself around like a mad, trapped moth.

“Quit it! Don’t!” His eyes opened groggily and she smiled lightly at him. “Morning.”

“Morning, Martin.” Perched at the end of the bed and holding out a mug, Helene was smiling, “Callum was making tea, so I had him make you coffee.” She hesitated for a few seconds then smiled, “I hope it’s all right. I hate it when people get my order wrong, you know? I once had an hour’s argument in Starbucks because the stupid barista wouldn’t acknowledge that she’d put down a caramel Macchiato instead of a chai tea latte and it really riled me, so when I’m making other people coffee I always, always try to make sure they’re happy.”

“Black with nothing in it?”

“Black with nothing in it.” She grinned and held it out again, inadvertently slopping it over her hand. “Ow. Mind out when you take it, it’s still rather hot.” Slowly, still half-immersed in sleep and the warm scent of her shampoo on his pillows, Martin sat, took his coffee, took a sip, burned his tongue, let out a whimper, tried to look away out of the window and nearly blinded himself from the winter sun high in his window.

“What time is it?” She shrugged and indicated that she didn’t have a clock, “It’s the weekend, Callum’s never up until like, two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, I might have exaggerated about the ‘good morning’ bit of the conversation.” Another shrug and she stood up again, “No chance we’ll get to Duxford, though, I’m afraid.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I was still awake at four, and I know I slept for about nine hours…” She shrugged, “which would give us three hours to change, get _to_ Duxford, look around for more than five minutes, maybe have a drink, let me tease you a bit about the longing stares you’re throwing at the airfix models, and then come home before it closes.”

“It takes two hours to get there.”

“Yes, pet. It does.”

“We’ll go another day.”

“We will.”

“But… you wanted to go today.” He looked both bemused and a little disappointed with himself. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, shh, it’s not going anywhere, I promise you.” She hopped up and stretched, “I might make something nice for breakfast, since you’ve got a day off, do you want?”

“Well, if you’re making. Use the blackberries I bought a couple of days ago if you want?”

She nodded and he watched her turn and leave, smiling as she wandered out of his room and downstairs.

_It’s not going anywhere… But you might._


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin is a little late to the... party.

Martin found the entirety of the next fortnight seemed to pass like a freakish kind of dream. Every so often, whether he was doing his log books on the rickety table by the door of the portacabin – draughty, yes, but also the only place that Arthur wouldn’t disturb him in this kind of weather – or simply doing the walk-around before they flew to Cork (Gdansk, Reykjavik, New York) again, a short smile would cross his face and his heart would beat twice as fast. It would only last for a couple of seconds but every time it happened it would floor him.

It also terrified him.

Obviously, he understood that this was a perfectly realistic thing to feel, and, he supposed that were he to ask Helene – _no, no, not in a million years, because what if –_ she would be in exactly the same boat, but he couldn’t help wondering whether there was something wrong with him. She’d only been in his life a little while – well, no, that’s not true, it had been four and a half months since she’d held the contract on the room in the house, _no, Martin, beside the point_ – but she had quickly become someone that Martin couldn’t see his future without.

Which wasn’t, in itself, a problem. If she had been thirty and working as an engineer on the tarmac, or a regular client who flew to and from an as-yet-undecided airport (Martin liked the idea of Casablanca, Monte Carlo or somewhere in the south of France) in posh dresses and nice makeup, then he could see her anytime in the future and it was set in stone. There would be a contract involved, and notice of said contract’s termination, among other things. But at this stage, there could be anything that could happen.

She could quit school. _No, no, she wouldn’t do that, she loved working with machines and the freedom of innovation that allowed her._

She could move out. _But she still had nine months on her contract and he didn’t know if she had friends outside of the boys in the house._

She could dump him. _Yeah. That was the most likely, especially considering he spent a good seventy percent of his time in the house either sat with her in the living room or sat in his room not talking to anyone. He was picky, he was barely talkative, and he was awkward and nervous._

“Martin?” His head whipped around and he cringed away just in time to keep both eyeballs intact. Douglas was holding out a pen far too close to his nose, and waving something about that needed signing, “Martin are you even listening to me, this confidentiality agreement needs to be signed now or the client won’t agree the other half of Carolyn’s fee! And as much as I am currently enjoying your vacant state of mind, due at least in part, I hope, to that girl who was invisible and then part of reality once more, I would rather get paid than watch you moon over getting laid.”

“I’m not getting laid, Douglas, and don’t be so crass.” With a small flourish which he had picked up from Arthur, Martin signed the paper and thrust it back at Douglas without saying another word.

“But wouldn’t you like to be?”

“What do you mean? I’ve… we’ve only been… two weeks, Douglas.” Martin felt his ears going bright red and started walking away, before stopping and looking back at his first officer with a slightly mournful sigh “It’s been two weeks.”

“Where you’ve been happier than a pig in mud and so much less… depressed, Martin.” Douglas smiled kindly and patted his shoulder, “which we’re all mighty thankful for, I’ll be completely honest. You even seem better rested?”

“I’ve been sleeping better, yes, but I don’t see how that’s any of your concern-”

“Because in the past three weeks you’ve been a lot more helpful and a lot less stuttery toward our clients, and you even kept Arthur occupied with Charades during that flight down to St. Tropez last Thursday, which I never thought you’d survive, to be completely honest, but that’s beside the point, and Carolyn and I, I shall be completely blunt with you, think that you might be even less wound up if you got something out of your system.”

“If I got what, exactly out of my system, Douglas?”

“First night nerves, as it were.”

“I thought you said you weren’t anything to do with acti-” He tried to set off on a ramble to rival the time they got lost in the middle of Brasilia, but Douglas cut him off with two simple words.

“Performance anxiety.” Martin glared at him, with an intensity which pretty much forced Douglas to continue, albeit in a somewhat kinder tone, “We all know you’re an incredibly nervous individual, Martin, and we don’t want you to… well, we see how happy you are, and…” He paused awkwardly, tilting his head and smiling.

“And what, Douglas?”

“Well, maybe we want you to keep being happy. That’s all, I mean, we’re only trying to be nice, Martin. We liked her that time she dropped off your spare van keys.”

“Arthur said he was the only one that met her.”

“Arthur says a lot of things.”

“ _Arthur_ is going to get _your_ officer’s hat put somewhere where the sun doesn’-”

“He’s learning new _skills_ Martin, aren’t you pleased that he’s learning new skills?”

“So lying to a superior is a new skill, is it?”

“You’re telling me you never lied about your homework?”

“No, never!”

“Oh lord.”

“Anyway, can I just turn this conversation back to the fact that you’ve seen Helene? Did you speak to her? Did you talk to her?” There was less than a second of silence before, “Oh god you’ve spoken to her haven’t you, what did you say, come on, tell me before I go home and throw myself out of the window.”

“We simply said we’d give you the keys, which we did. And she asked that you were returned home safely before midnight. Said something about the van making a funny noise and making dinner. I can’t exactly remember.”

Martin looked entirely stricken for a moment, before sighing and tilting his head back to look up at the sky.

“She wasn’t embarrassed? Or upset?”

“No, Martin. We were perfectly humane. Sometimes we can do that, you know. It’s only on occasion but it happens sometimes.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

 

.

.

.

 

When he got home that night – _just after two in the morning, delivery job at nine the next day, four hours sleep_ – he was stunned to find the lights still on along the hallway and leading up to his bedroom, his door hanging wide open and a familiar lump laid out under his covers.

“Helene?” No answer but the smallest movement of her hand on the pillowcase. “Helene, are you awake?”

“Hmmmwhat?” Her eyes opened slowly as he stood over her, “What is it with you and waking me up?”

“What is it with you and getting into my bed?” He smiled playfully and slipped his jacket off, then turned his back and unbuttoned his shirt. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright with getting up at six tomorrow. You said you wanted to help me with delivering the bookcases from Mr. Lawrence’s to his daughter’s place.”

“I’m fine with that if you let me sleep now.”

“I suppose you could sleep until half past six if you really wanted to, I mean, if you had a shower tonight, which you smell like you did, then I can wake you when I’m dressed and you can get dressed then, I’ll do you some breakfast and-”

“Martin, shut up. Please. I just want to sleep tonight and then you can do whatever you want with me tomorrow.” She rolled over, facing away from him, and for a moment he caught bright red splotches on her face in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I sound it?”

“No, you sound tired and pissed off, to be perfectly honest.” He sat down and put his hand in her hair gently, “Want to talk?”

“I am tired and I am pissed off, nothing about that makes me sound like I want to talk, does it? No. Good. Goodnight, Martin.” She moved over to the opposite side of the bed and curled up tighter, Martin completely unable to fathom what he’d done wrong.

_Wait. What if he hadn’t done anything wrong? What if it was **it’s not you, it’s me** all over again? What if she was upset about him? What if she regretted it? What if this was the last night they would…_

Shedding shoes and jacket quickly, kicking his trousers off and sliding under the covers he edged his hand closer to her skin.

“Helene?” An over-exaggerated snore met his soft questioning. “Come on, talk to me. What have I done?”

“ _Nothing_. God, just go to sleep, please. It’ll be fine in the morning. Have you set your alarm?”

“Yeah, I have. Goodnight, Hel.” _I think I love you._

“Goodnight, Martin.” She rolled over and kissed him lightly on the lips, but sighed as she pulled away and leaned back into the pillows. His hand gently brushed her shoulder as she rolled away and he froze as he felt the soft graze of satin against his palm. Slowly, almost too gently for her to feel, he followed the feeling of the fabric up her side as she pressed her hip lightly into his palm.

“Oh.” _No underwear._

“Yeah, Martin. _Oh._ ”


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin discovers a love of Satin and also more about Carolyn than he would ever like to know.

“Lady garden.”

“Flower.”

“Muff.”

“Love tunnel.”

“Minge.”

“Urgh, Arthur, did you really have to sink so low?”

“What? It’s what mum used to-”

“Douglas, this is your fault, ugh, this is all your fault! I’m never going to get the image of Carolyn-“

“And you’ve just made it that _tiniest_ bit worse by saying her name. Dear lord, Arthur, I never knew your mother was so crass.”

“Well what are you talking about Vaginas for, Douglas? I never knew there was a polite way to talk about them. But I quite like Lady Garden. Does Helena call it that?” He paused and sat down on the edge of Carolyn’s desk with a deceptively calm smile before looking straight at Martin, who flushed an even darker cherry-red as he spoke his next words, “Does Helene?”

“And herein lays the reason we’re talking about vaginas, Arthur. Or Lady Gardens, actually, since that seems to keep Martin in an entirely healthy fuchsia, rather than an obscene scarlet red. Miss Helene Foster seems to want to seduce our good Captain Crieff.” Then, in an exaggerated mutter, “Lord only knows why, of course-”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Douglas, can’t you drop the snide remarks for half an hour? I came to you with a problem which I wanted to discuss with you because you’re a self-proclaimed actual-sexual-SkyGod and I’m _just_ Icarus. And I don’t need you… muttering at me. I don’t feel good about this because she’s beautiful and smart and I took seven goes to get my bloody CPL-”

“Martin.”

“Let’s not even mention the age gap and the fact that she could clearly do better than a delivery man on the breadline with no upward social mobility whatsoever-”

“ _Martin._ ”

“-Four friends at most, and two of those I work with, one of those with the mind of an eight year old,” He was cut off by a loud _hey!_ from Arthur but wasn’t fazed, continuing, “And the other seemingly intent on humiliating me when all I asked for was some help on how to-” and here he faltered, “-T-to talk d-dirty to my g-girlfriend, which now seems like a ridiculous request and I shouldn’t have even thought of asking you because look at how red I am and how, god, how am I even going to tell her that I want to do more than kiss her or touch her chest…” He flushed a darker red and cringed, looking away at his hands, “My god I actually think I hate you.”

Douglas stared at him post-outburst with a pair of wide eyes and a troubled frown. A couple of times, he started to speak, then stopped and looked away, before looking up at Arthur, then away again.

“M-Martin, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You just want me quiet and placated so you can keep on telling me how inadequate I am.”

“Martin, where is this coming from?”

“This is coming from… w-well; it’s true, isn’t it? She’s about the only person I know that will tell me I’m worth it and mean it, and I mean, _really_ mean it, rather than what you think is meaning it, which is to say it and then look away and smirk at Arthur or Carolyn or whoever’s behind me.”

“Yes, but Martin-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He closed his log book with a soft _whump_ and set it back on the shelf with a sigh. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. Really, I just… sometimes it hurts when you’re just so mean. And it’s normally funny but just, at the moment, I don’t know if I’m coming or going, and whether Helene will be coming or going by the end of the week.”

“What? You think she might be going?” Douglas’ expression was one of immediate concern and he raised his eyes to meet Martin’s quickly, “what’s happened?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s nothing really, I mean… well… it’s really nothing, but remember the night we came back from St. Tropez and we were really late because Carolyn made us stop over in Bristol?”

“Yes. Go on, Martin.”

“Well, I came back and went up to bed and she was really mad at me and wouldn’t look at me and she said it was _nothing,_ you know, like girls do, and I touched her hip and she wasn’t naked but she didn’t have any underwear on and I think she wanted us to… _you know_ but she looked really tired and I think she’d been waiting up and I just felt awful…”

“Okay, Martin. Take a deep breath.”

“She was wearing _satin,_ Douglas. Helene doesn’t wear satin. Ever. No girl I know has ever worn satin.”

“Was it _nice,_ Martin?” He was teasing playfully but stopped the moment he caught the blush hitting the tips of Martin’s ears. “I mean, was that the kind of thing that… well if she’d been wearing it would it have been a turn on?”

“W-well… I-I don’t know. I mean, it felt really nice. Like, u-under my hands and when I saw her get up in the morning, well… I got pretty… _you know_ … pretty fast.”

“Oh. So you think it was pretty sexy, then?” A small, mute nod and Martin shrank back into the chair as though it would absorb him and everything would be okay. “Do you like fabrics, Martin?”

“I’m a pilot, not a fashion designer.”

“I mean, Martin, maybe that’s one of your… kinks.”

“What? No. I’m not kinky-”

“I’m not talking about, you know, those massive BDSM parties or anything, Martin. There doesn’t need to be leather or whips involved. Helena rather likes this flogger that I found-”

“No. No. No. Stop right now. God, Douglas, what if she wants _that?_ ” He could barely believe it. What Douglas was suggesting terrified him, even the thought of a… _fabric_ kink, whatever that was, was a little bit terrifying. He wasn’t usually turned on by the feel of things. It was just that one time where the satin and the…   _oh god. Oh no._ He glanced down into his lap and wriggled slightly, hoping his sudden problem would go away.

“Well, Martin, first of all, you’re not going to go in there all guns blazing.” Douglas grinned, “If anything, she’s going to be the one that comes on to you. You’re the gentleman, Martin, which isn’t a bad thing in this day and age.”

“I’m not a gentleman, I’m just awkward.”

“Yes, and from what I know of her, through you, I think she might like that, Martin.” Douglas smiled kindly, “Use what you have to your advantage. I use charm. You can use short height, ginger hair and awkwardness.”

“Very funny, Douglas. I sound like someone they’d have burnt at the stake three hundred years ago. If you’re not going to help, I’m going to remain in this predicament for the foreseeable future.”

“Sorry, Martin. Can’t help you if you’re not willing to try.”

“I’m just… I just don’t know what to… I don’t have assets!”

“No! Skip, it’s like Buzz Lightyear.” Arthur chimed in happily, both older men’s heads turning to look at him so fast there may have been a sonic-boom. “You have to have seen Toy Story?” Martin shook his head miserably. “Well, Skip, he couldn't fly but he could fall... with style. So the thing is Skip, the thing _is_ you have to make the bad things work like good things! Kind of like when Gerti needs a part and Mum buys it on ebay.”

“Fly with MJN Air,” Douglas intoned, “Sponsored by Ebay and children’s films.”

 

.

.

.

 

 _I can’t fly but I can fall with style._ It became Martin’s mantra over the drive home, as he sat in his van that evening and considered driving back to the airfield, as he strode up the drive and straight up to his room.

Two soft knocks came at his door and he swung it open to see Helene in her pyjamas, staring at him.

“Hey, Martin. You have a good day?”

“Ican’tflybutIcanfallwithstyle.” He hesitated, as though debating whether that was even worth a blush, then flamed red after a few seconds. “Shit.”

“Well if you can’t fly then maybe we should see about getting your CPL taken away.” She chuckled and sat down on his bed. “Coffee, black, nothing in it, just the right temperature.” Offering it up she winked and kissed his hand as he took the mug. “Though I think you can fly, Martin. I think you’re a very good pilot.”

“H-how can you take everything in your stride like that?”

“What?”

“Like… some kind of superwoman.”

“Martin, I’m not superwoman. I get upset and I get angry.”

“I know, but why don’t you get angry with me?”

“What do I have to get angry about?” He opened his mouth to retort so she pointed at the mattress and he sat down, pouting. “Seriously, Martin. I get to come home from uni, sit down in bed with a lovely man, who is kind, funny and, may I say, gorgeous. Who likes me for who I am and who seems to be respecting my personal space, even though I very much would like him to stop.”

“Stop? Helene, if I stopped respecting your personal space then I would very much be attached to your side on a constant and irritating basis. I probably wouldn’t let you go to lectures.”

“Then, for this week only,” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was _Private Study Week_ , “I am entirely yours to be irritated, to have my space violated and to hug and kiss whenever you damn well want.”

The look on his face could only have been described as a combination of aroused, confused and incredibly excited.

“All yours? F-for a week?” He blushed brightly and tilted his head, “Helene, that’s… I-I-I’d very much like to kiss you right now.”

“Personal space violatable, Captain.” She giggled and stood up again, crossing the room and closing the door, “Cabin doors to manual.” He chuckled, momentarily confused, then his eyes widened at her. “Yes, Martin, I am really playing this game.”

“I-I can’t-”

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere past what you’re comfortable with, so long as your arms, legs and head remain on the bed at all times.”

Martin couldn’t help it, he blushed.

“Come on, Martin,” She cooed softly, sitting more comfortably and holding out her arms to him. “It’s been a full five days. You have a tan.”

“I look like a lobster.”

“You’ve got colour. You look well.” She smiled again and stroked his cheeks gently, “Come on, Martin, one week only, I’m all yours.”

“You really promise? Like, really?”

“Yes, silly. But I’m running out of patience and might disappear in a second.” She laughed but let out a shriek as Martin practically fell on top of her, letting out a soft sigh as he kissed first her cheek and then, ever so gently her lips. He was smiling as he pulled away, something he didn’t do often, and curled up in her embrace, stroking her forearms with his fingertips as he kissed his way along her collarbone when his pocket started to vibrate.

“Oh, no. Helene. Please don’t make me answer that?” There were only four numbers in there that it could be, and only one of those was Helene ever happy for Martin to answer. Martin didn’t even like talking to Arthur, which Helene supposed was a little bit sad, but she didn’t mind, she would be there for Martin whenever he opened up to her.

“Give it here?” She took it happily, looked at the screen and smirked, answering it quietly and pulling Martin into an immediate and noisy kiss, groping every inch that she could reach and letting out deliberately obscene noises as she lifted the handset and held it close to their mouths. With a final breathy moan of _“Oh! Yes, Martin-”_ she quickly pulled away and hung up, grinning broadly at her boyfriend.

“Who _actually_ was that?” He tilted his head at her, flushed and panting.

“That _actually_ was your First Officer.” 


	10. 10.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin's on the end of an awkward Phonecall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split this one in to two, as it was getting away from me length-wise.  
> Also, starts earning its rating here, earns it and change, most likely in 10.2.

“Who _actually_ was that?” He tilted his head at her, flushed and panting.

“That _actually_ was your First Officer.”

 

.

.

.

 

Martin froze and his heart leapt into his mouth.

“D-Douglas heard you do th-that?” He gestured at the phone and then back at her. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it will shut him the hell up, Martin, and with any luck you’ll feel a lot happier knowing that  I have the ability to make those sounds while I’m kissing you.”

“Yes, but why did you let _him_ hear?”

“Because then he’ll stop teasing you!”

“But… I don’t want him to know what you sound like, that’s just for me!” _Oh. Shit._ Martin’s face went bright red and he looked away, covering his face with his hands as Helene stared at him, a slow smile breaking out on her face.

“Oh, Martin, sweetheart…” She ran her fingers gently up his arms and pulled his hands down from his eyes, “look at me?” He shook his head, “Martin, I’m sorry… I didn’t think you’d…” She shook her head at her own idiocy and pulled him into a slow, kind kiss. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Martin. Should I go?”

“No! Oh no, don’t tell me you’re… no, d-don’t go. Please?” He put his hand out to her and she nodded, “I just… I don’t want anyone else hearing that… until I’ve heard it for myself first hand.” Another flash of pink rose up in his cheeks and she smiled, tracing it with her fingers.

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Because you don’t want to have sex with me.” He said it so matter of factly that she was both insulted and confused.

“Yes, Martin. I think I really rather do.”

“No, really. You don’t want to have sex with me. I’m messy and nervous and lia-lia-“ He covered his face with his hands again, letting out a muffled whine.

“Messy and nervous is kinda how the first time is supposed to go, Martin.”

“I’m not a bloody virgin!” He looked positively furious at the insinuation, and it flared something in Helene to see all her attempts at seduction, kindness and gentle coaxing going to waste.

“God, no, you’re not a virgin, Martin, you’re just an ass! I know about your other girlfriend and I know she was _horrible_ but I’m not going to do that to you!” She sat up and pushed him away gently, “I’m trying to say that the first time in a new relationship is always awkward. I don’t know what you like in the bedroom department and you don’t know what I like, because I barely know myself. I know you’re not the most experienced man in the world but that’s fine because I’m not entirely the most experienced girl, but don’t _fight_ me on this, Martin. Or I will get up and leave. I’m trying to be good to you and make this a good experience!”

“I’m sorry.” He had the good grace to look ashamed of his outburst. “I like you, if that’s any consolation.” She looked at him, the small voice which came out of him was a complete turnaround from his last eruption. “I have to put up with teasing from Douglas and Arthur, who, I cannot believe has had more sex than I have but somehow it’s true, about how I’m not very confident in the bedroom department and I didn’t want to get it from you as well.”

“Martin, I would never tease you about something that upsets you.” She looked into his eyes, hoping at least that he would see some element of truth in there. “You know that. I want to make you happy, and I have nothing else that motivates me other than my happiness and yours.”

“Can we rewind two minutes and go again, then?” He said, still a little shamefaced.

“Of course.” She paused and grinned cheerfully, “Messy and nervous is kinda how the first time is supposed to go, Martin.”

“But I… I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of you!”

“I’m sure you won’t, Martin. I’m sure it’ll be funny, and awkward, and stupid but it’ll be between us, and nobody needs to know about the weird parts, or the uncomfortable parts, do they?” She smiled again, wider this time, “I don’t even think they need to know anything.”

“It’s just between you and me?”

“Martin, this is a highly intimate part of our relationship. I am not getting anyone but you or me involved.” She paused and smirked, “Maybe if we run out of ideas.”

“What!” He shot up onto his knees. “You’re joking? Tell me you’re joking?” She burst out laughing and covered her face with her hands.

“Of course I am you silly, silly man! I don’t want a Ménage-a-Trois!”

“I think I hate you.”

“I love you too, Martin.” She smiled slightly and let the colour rise in her cheeks as he froze and looked up at her. “Yeah, I guess I did say it.”

“You did.” He hadn’t realised he was smiling so broadly until she let out a giggle and kissed his cheeks. “Helene, why did you say it?”

“Because it’s true and because I think you need to know it before we go any further. I love every part of you, Martin, from your silly ginger curls to your very-ticklish-feet. I wouldn’t have suggested taking this further if I didn’t feel the way I do about you, because I know that this is not something that you would take lightly either.” She looked at him, smiling slightly, half expecting a rebuttal or a denial that _you could never love someone like me_. What she got stunned her entirely.

“I love you too, Helene.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows slightly, then blushed bright red, “That was less scary than I thought it would be. So much less scary.” She rolled her eyes and pulled him toward her, kissing his nose ever so gently.

“I feel like I’m in a film.”

“You’re pretty enough to be the lead.”

“You, Sir, are an incorrigible flirt.” She grinned and watched him carefully as his face slipped through about twenty different shades of red, and considered how, in such a short time, he had changed. From the oft-stuttering, awkward aviation geek, wound tighter than a slinky, had emerged a sweet, funny, flirty soul, who liked to laze in bed and cuddle in the dark, who was knowledgeable about countries and cities, customs and people when you could steer him away from his money worries, his aeroplanes and his perpetually nervous inner monologue.

“Am I? Really?” She giggled and nodded, licking her lips, “Well I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Kiss me?”

He couldn’t help but oblige.

 

.

.

.

 

“Please don’t make me do this! I’m naked and you’re there! Looking like that! With no clothes on!”

“Your phone is ringing, Martin. Answer it! It’s your boss!” She held up the handset cheerfully, curling around his side gently, stroking his thigh. “Come on, Martin… answer her…”

“Fine.” He snatched up the handset and held it to his ear quietly, “Carolyn?”

_Helene kissed his jaw. He growled._

“Martin, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

_She stroked her hand down his bare chest quietly, her thumb brushing over his navel quietly, making him gasp._

“I-I have a d-delivery job,” Quick lie never hurt anyone, “Caroly-nnnn.”

 _She’d just wrapped her hand around him._ Turning quickly and covering the mic on the phone, he tilted his head and growled at her.

“What are you doing, Helene?”

“Talk to your boss!” She hissed back, giving him a gentle stroke that made him groan, his eyes roll and raise the mobile to his ear again.

“Sorry Carolyn, what were you saying?”

“Cancel the delivery job. We’re going to Portugal.” He looked over at Helene with eyes wide and disturbed.

“P-Portugal?” She stroked him again and he let out a low moan as her knuckles brushed his stomach with a gentle flick of her wrist.

“Yes, Portugal, Martin. Are you entirely well? You sound like you’re about to throw up.”

“Yeah, I-I-I’ve been in and out all day, migraine.” He shrugged quickly at Helene, who held back a giggle and bit his shoulder gently. He took in a sharp gasp and looked over at her, growling again.

“You’ll be fine to fly?”

“I doubt it. Helene and C-Callum have offered to do the d-driving and lifting for me for tomorrow… but I need to be there to oversee and I don’t really want to get up in the air and have my inner ear thing play up again, because if it does, I’ll faint and you don’t really want to be midair and fainting, it’s not a nice sensation to lose five hundred miles suddenly.”

“Well, no Martin, I suppose it can’t be good-” He let out another moan and a soft gasp as Helene leaned down and gently licked the precome from the tip of him.

“No, no, I need to be sick, Carolyn, excuse me I’ll see you n-n-next week.” He pulled the battery out of the phone with a little difficulty and threw the various parts onto his bedside cabinet. “Y-ou can’t. Not now… I want to k-kiss you.”

She was stunned. Martin had never used that phrase before. _I want._ It was usually _‘can I?’, ‘is it okay if?’, ‘I’d very much like to-’_. Never had it been _I want_ , before, but now he’d said it, _she_ wanted to hear it again. So she raised her head and kissed his chest ever so gently.

“Say it again.”

“I want to kiss you.” His hand slid into her hair and she smiled ever so slightly, “and stuff.” His lips parted and he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply and pulling lightly at her hair.

“Stuff like this-” A gentle tug at him and he moaned again, “or more?”

“M-more, please.” He looked at her, wide eyed and gasping as she did it again. “I-it’s been too long-” She shook her head and kissed him, ignoring his stuttered protests as his hips jerked and he let out a long moan as he came over her hand. Carefully, she rubbed her hands on a towel she’d thought to bring up from her bedroom and sat back on her heels, smirking at him.

“Good, then?” He blushed darkly again, nodding shyly and yawning.

“Come on, Martin. Let’s get you fed before I have my wicked way with you. And I might well tell Callum you’re using him as part of your web of lies!” Hopping up, and out of his reach, she giggled again and he let out a howl of mock anguish.

“No! Don’t do that, he’ll kill me!” She laughed louder, pulling one of his shirts over her curves and digging around in his drawers for the shorts she’d brought up with the washing. Quickly pulling them on, she giggled and ran down the stairs.

“Callum! Martin’s got a bone to pick with you!” She turned at the bottom of the stairs, giggling, and her mouth dropped open as she saw Martin stood in his doorway, stark naked. Callum had opened his door and looked out at the shout of his name, and immediately cringed away from the sight of Martin upstairs.

“Maybe that should be boner.” With a small smirk he retreated back into his room and Helene couldn't help but laugh as she raced upstairs and tackled Martin back onto his bed. 

 


	11. 10.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin gets quite excited... about chips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It Earns its rating here. Wahey.

“I am _so_ humiliated.”

“Martin, Callum’s got one too, I don’t think _he_ cares about _yours_.”

“I think _you_ need to kill me.”

“Martin, look at me, or I’m going to cut it off.” Her hands made an awful mock-grab between his legs and he panicked as she chuckled. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes and instantly went bright red again.

“I can’t. He saw me naked, Helene.” With a shaky hand, he pointed at the now-closed doorway.

“So did I!”

“You’re my girlfriend!”

“He’s a bloke! You’ve used public toilets, haven’t you? You’ve seen other people with their cocks out!”

“Don’t say that!” He flushed darker and looked down into his lap, wriggling uncomfortably.

“Don’t say what?”

“C-cocks.” He bit his lip. “I have problems with dirty words and how they… uhm… affect me?” He glared down at his lap again and scowled. “It’s stupid.”

“I don’t think your sexual preferences are stupid, Martin. I think you quite like dirty talk, but hey, that’s not a problem. I might just need to practise it a bit.”

“It’s still embarrassing when it sounds all sexy coming out of your mouth and…” He blushed and looked away, “I really don’t want to think about this right now. I really want you to kill either me or Callum and make it so nobody knows that just happened.”

“Martin, please. It’s not like he’s going to broadcast your exact size and girth to the rest of the universe. It’s also not like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about. If anything, I should be the one with problems here.” She wasn’t lying. Being on the small side, Helene was a little bit… scared by the size of Martin. She knew he wasn’t exactly a behemoth down there, but he was larger than anything she’d taken before, and her last two boyfriends had been a bit… rough and not very kind.

“Oh, Helene, you know I’ll look after you. I won’t hurt you.” His panicked expression softened to a small smile and she blushed gently as he valiantly made an attempt to change the subject. “You said something about dinner before I flashed the lower half of the household.” She visibly brightened, squeezing his hand as a small thank you for saving her dignity in front of him.

“Yeah. I’ll make something with chips?” At the mere mention of chips, Martin’s head shot up and grinned at her happily.

“Ooh, yes! Have we got any burgers?” His favourite food, apparently. Well, aside from a well-cooked steak and chips, but _nobody_ could afford that on a student budget.

With a small smile, Helene turned to kiss him. She liked that they’d become a _we_ in the past month or so, pooling money together to buy food and supplies, Helene usually cooking and Martin usually shopping for them on the way back from work. Callum wanted to refer to them with some kind of ridiculous portmanteau, like FReiff, or MarLene, but it has been vetoed by the house immediately on the grounds of it being _‘too funny, nothing would ever get done with it in use’_ , though very soon after that discussion, they had started sharing bowls and general kitchen items. It was quite the entertaining sight, apparently.

“I think we have, I’ll have a look in the freezer.”

“I do love you.” She smiled and kissed him again as he spoke, moving her nose to nuzzle gently against his neck.

“I know. Me too.”

 

.

.

.

 

The film had finished and the borrowed DVD had been shoved back on to Callum’s shelf. Martin himself didn’t quite understand why he, as a rather macho veterinary science student, had a copy of Love Actually in his collection, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was December, it was time for snuggling up with your two-month-girlfriend and not giving an actual toss about the masculinity of your housemate, _Martin, so shut up and have fun._ She sat him down and kissed him gently, soon becoming hungry for more and licking gently into his mouth, giggling as he tried to do the same and it tickled. A hand came down on his backside gently as her legs parted and with a groan Martin pushed against her hips with his own.

“Mmmf-Martin, gentle-”

“S-sorry, Helene,” He kissed her again, biting her bottom lip as the friction made his hips buck involuntarily again, “Let me touch you? Please? I don’t want to… to mess up-”

“Okay, I’ll take you through it, love.” She smiled and ran a hand through his hair, looking him straight in the eye. “It’s so good to be able to say that. _Love._ It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“You call everyone ‘love’,” Martin smirked and kissed below her ear gently, licking the skin between her hairline and the earrings that sat nestled in the lobe. She giggled and arched her neck to him to let him move his mouth along there too, looking up at him with eyes wide and wanting. “What makes me so special?”

“I’m _in_ love with your stupid face, isn’t that enough of a reason for you to feel special?” He pretended to ponder, then chuckled and kissed her gently again. “Also you bought me a book last week and I hadn’t read it already so I can’t complain.”

“It was from a charity sho-op!” She arched her hips again, and his broken moan sounded out in the room. “Stop doing that mid sente-ence!” She chuckled evilly and he grunted, biting her bottom lip a little harder again. “No. Naughty.” With an evil grin she did it again, smirking.

“Punish me then.” She smirked and Martin rolled his eyes, used to her playful banter.

“No, I think I’d rather reinforce the good behaviour.”

“Then take me to bed.” She smiled up at him and pulled at his hand gently, directing him off the sofa and upstairs. “Come on.”

 

.

.

.

 

He stood at the end of the bed and slowly knelt on the mattress, wishing he’d thought to change the sheets, to brush his teeth, to wash more thoroughly in the shower that morning. Oh god he could positively _feel_ the sweat on his body, the grime of the day, from helping Callum repaint the door that morning, from the embarrassment of flashing his housemate, from everything.

“Martin, love?” She stroked his thigh with the tips of her toes and watched him, “It’s just us. The door’s locked and the curtains are shut, and I’m getting cold.” He stiffened slightly as her foot slid slowly over the slowly growing bulge in his trousers and he let out a soft hum as he rocked against the gentle press of her foot. “Come up here?”

Slowly, hesitantly he moved up on the bed to lay beside her, watching her with nervous eyes which would refuse to move from the skin that was flushing slowly at her throat. Carefully, he lifted his hand and let it rest against the warm skin, her body twitching gently as she shifted to let him nestle closer, and bring his lips slowly to hers. They spent a while like this, neither of them really willing to push it further, though both knew that it was very much a _now-or-let-their-idiosyncrasies-get-in-the-way_. A few minutes after that stark realisation hit him; Martin had his hand in her hair and was pulling her head back, slowly nipping and biting at her neck.

“Gently, Martin-” Helene tried to choke the words out at the same time as Martin slid his other hand up her shirt, “Please-”

“Sorry… s-s-sorry…” He ducked his head and nuzzled her gently where he’d bitten, stroking her side and kissing her skin slowly. “Show me how?” She nodded and slid her fingers up his shirt, following the ridges of his stomach muscles, brought out by heavy lifting and nervous muscle tensing which made up most of Martin’s flights when Douglas had control. He was brought back from vague swirling thoughts of joining the mile high club with the girl in front of him by her voice softly calling his name.

“Feel good, Martin?” Her fingers were under the elastic of his boxers now, and he wasn’t sure how but somehow his jeans were resting somewhere around his thighs. Her hands felt like ice against the flushed skin of his lower half as she traced her fingers back and forth against the skin of his thighs, edging closer and closer as he moved through a cycle of tensing and forgetting to breathe as her fingers skimmed over areas he’d forgotten existed.

“So good.” A choking breath, “Too good,” A soft hum as she moved away, “Tickly. Really tickly.” He glanced down at her, she was smiling, smirking, licking her lips and leaning up to kiss him before stroking him once or twice and sliding up his body, curling up at his side.

“You want something?” She teased happily, running her fingers up and down his chest again, “you look like you do?” He chuckled and gripped her arm gently; leaning in and stuttering two words he’d never expected to say aloud.

Thirty seconds later she was on her back looking up into his eyes as she ran her hand through his hair and pulled him down for a slow kiss that, quite magically, she had managed to time with a gentle shift of her hips. He let out a moan and she did it again, nipping his bottom lip and pulling him into the cradle of her hips again, nipping at his neck again.

“You r-really don’t need a –” He took a deep breath, “condom?”

“We got tested, love, and,” She kissed him again, “I’m sorted.” Another gentle nip at his neck and he nodded, stroking against him again.

“C-can we?” He gently thrust against her hip and both of them let out a soft moan, “I… I want to,” _And I know I won’t last long but I know I’ll have as much stamina as you have, I’ll do it for you, I’ll always do it for you-_

“Please.” She nodded and kissed him gently, parting her legs a little further and letting him align them together. “I need yo-” He cut her off with a gentle kiss, pushing forward slowly and moaning as she let out a long whimper that tapered off into a moan.

“F-f-fuck.” There was a muted silence and he stared down at her, feeling her all around him, not just enclosing his body but every one of his senses and every one of his thoughts had zeroed in onto the girl beneath him. “You’re so… you’re e-everywhere, love.” She nodded her understanding and tugged at his hair again, pulling him down for a kiss that she coupled with a slow shift of her hips. He let out a high gasp and shook his head, sensitive, wanting and feeling as though he was ready to explode.

“I know, Martin. I know…” She licked his bottom lip, “I can feel everything, god, I feel like I can feel your heartbeat-“ Taking a slow breath, Martin knew her words were an effort to distract him from the tightness wrapping around him, an attempt to ground him and slow him down, calm him from the want to come too fast, “Like I can hear the blood moving through you-“

He pushed slowly, pulled back, gently pushed in again and moaned louder, burying his face into her neck. She gasped as his lips brushed the spot beneath her ear and she knew, knew, just entirely knew that he wasn’t going to last.

“M-Martin,” She whispered his name, gently dragging her nails down his back and arching her own as he let out a long growl and nipped at the bruise his lips had formed earlier, “Sweetheart, come…” Her hips rolled up and she moved to kiss him deeply, to draw the sensations over the edge. She knew he was holding back and she knew it was aching. She could feel it in herself and though she was nowhere near joining him, she breathed out a soft moan at the sudden rush of him coming hard into her, whimpering into her neck as his arms went weak.

It was hardly seconds before he was apologising clumsily, lifting his hand to her face, kissing her skin, nipping her bottom lip and dragging his fingers across her taut nipples, down, down between her legs and into her, his come mixing with her slickness as he thrust and rubbed her gently to a release of her own. With a long whimper and after more than a few minutes of concentrated attention, she arched slightly off the bed, her lips against his and her fingers wrapped around the palm pressed against her clit.

“Too much,” she shook her head, but not letting him pull away, “No apologies like this again,” That came as a soft pant and a gentle kiss joined it moments later as she finally let him go and instead curled gently against his side, “Martin, it’ll get better. It’s been a long time.”

“Still, would have been nice, fairytale consummation of our relationship.”

“Yeah, it would have. But fuck fairytales. There aren’t any about pilots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, no, It's a nice closing line but I'm not done yet.  
> They've not made it to Duxford.  
> ;)


	12. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Martin Suffers an awful lot of Afterglow.

_“Yeah, it would have. But fuck fairytales. There aren’t any about pilots.”_

_._

_._

_._

Martin snorted at her words and raised his eyes to look at her.

“I’m pretty sure one day somebody will write a fairytale about pilots.” It was a pathetic attempt at keeping her interested but he went with it nonetheless, as his fingers crept along her body and up to her neck, lightly stroking through the tangles in her hair.

“I hope they don’t.” He raised his eyebrows, confused, “I mean… if they did, everyone’d know how amazing being with a pilot is, and I’d be beating men, women and perverts off with a stick.” She paused and stroked her finger across his tricep, making him squirm and giggle, “And really, I don’t want to get arrested while I’m with you.” 

Martin blushed from the roots of his hair all the way down to his nipples.

“N-no, don’t get arrested. That would be a bad idea… I don’t think I’d be able to bail you out for beating somebody over the head with a spanner.”

“I wouldn’t do it with a spanner, Martin!” She playfully swatted at his chest, then bit him gently for good measure. “And you _definitely_ wouldn’t be able to bail me out.”

“What?”

“Well, the way I see it…” Her devious smirk spread across her face, “You and me, we’d both have been arrested. Indecent exposure charges. I’d be staking my claim on you, left right and centre.”

“You’re trouble, Helene.” Her eyes widened and she pouted, mildly offended by his words. Immediately, he was backtracking, his limbs flailing and his cheeks draining to white, “No, no, not in a bad way. I mean… you’d be trouble for anyone who wanted me…” He rubbed his face and sighed, pulling away and lying down beside her. “Bugger.”

“Oh, shush, Martin. You didn’t mean to offend me, did you?”

“No!”

“Then apologise!” She was firm, but her lips were quirking a little into a smile.

“I’m s-“

“No, Martin…” Dropping her voice an octave, she smirked and ran her hand along his chest, watching his eyes widen as her fingertips touched him just where he liked it, “ _apologise.”_

.

.

.

“What in the ever loving… hell happened at the weekend, Martin?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Douglas?” Martin stopped and stared at him blankly, just as he and Helene had practised in the kitchen that morning, between lazy kisses and a bacon sandwich well desired and quite frankly, well deserved.

“Well, Martin, I called you to see how you were, warn you about Carolyn being on the war path, but… when I answered there was the most surreal sort of sound at the other end.” With a small smile, Martin tilted his head expectantly and frowned slightly.

“Surreal sound? What do you mean, Douglas?” He frowned a little again, “Like hell-demons or something?” He’d been watching far too much of that mad TV series that Helene enjoyed getting emotionally involved with.

“No, like sex, Martin.” Martin let out a little choking noise and looked between them, Arthur looked confused, which was to be expected, as Martin had done quite well to avoid the subject of Helene with him since the Sat-Com call, and Douglas looked smug. “How did you spend your weekend, Martin? Alone, or with your… _friend_?”

“I was with Helene, yes, Douglas. My _girl_ friend.” And if Douglas was smirking beforehand, then there was no doubt of the smug face that was sending a glow across the room. “I’m sorry you had to hear it.”

“Oh no, Martin. I’m actually somewhat glad you’re… well…” With a wider smirk – and Martin wasn’t quite sure how much wider Douglas’ smirk could get, but if it widened any further there might be an MJN-outing-to-the-hospital on the cards. “Frankly, Martin, I’m quite glad you’re not wanking into a sock anymore.”

“Thanks, Douglas.” A moment’s silence, then, “she likes doors, not windows?”

“Mmm, very good.” He smirked and settled his gaze on the altimeter, “Does she prefer ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘my apologies’?”

“I’m sorry, obviously.”

“I hope you weren’t saying that to her last night?” This time, instead of a smirk, he was quirking an eyebrow.

“She rather enjoyed any apologies I had to make, First Officer Richardson. And she enjoyed them again this morning.” His face flamed red but his heart made a little leap as he raised his eyebrows and Douglas grinned an approving sort of grin at him.

“I sense you’re going to be saying sorry a lot, Martin. I hope you have a tried and tested technique?” He paused, and smirked, “which of course leads me to ask, does she prefer ‘Cunnilingus’, or ‘Fellatio’?”

“Both. Although if I remember rightly, she prefers the latter.” Martin was bright pink, at the mere mention of either of the acts, but managed to rein in the squeak which attempted to slip from his lips as Carolyn breezed into the Flight Deck and demanded to know what they were playing. Or playing at. Martin wasn’t quite sure, given that all the blood had rushed to his face, and was making a certified attempt at blocking his ears.

“Well, what game are you playing?” She emphasised, leaning against the cabin door and looking for all the world as though she was attempting to keep Arthur out of the room.

“That, we cannot say. However we can say that the person concerned, enjoys frizz, not curls, cuddles, not hugs and that rabbits would be her ideal household pet.”

“Oh, not that ridiculous game again.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Martin smiled slightly as Douglas faltered a little, “I mean, she’d prefer it if I said utterly, but the sentiment is still there.”

“You’re both idiots.”

“No, we’re not,” and now Martin was giggling, “we’re fools, or nincompoops, or-or-or-”

“A waste of bloody oxygen?” Douglas supplied happily, then frowned, “No, no, that’s too many words.”

“You really are idiots.” Carolyn ducked her head out of the cabin for a few moments and sighed. “How’s Helene, Martin?”

“And how come you never ask me about my espoused, Carolyn?” Mock-affronted, Douglas scowled at her.

“Because we all know she’ll never change. Helene, on the other hand, could have decided that she wants to be a punk rocker with piercings up the wazoo.”

“She doesn’t have any piercings there.” Martin flushed again.

“Apparently our young Romeo has had more than a glance at dear Jomeo-Ow!” For Martin had punched Douglas happily in the arm, “I mean Juliet’s nether regions.”

“Shut up.” Martin blushed at the simple mention of nether regions of any form, scratching at the side of his neck, “I’m not talking about Helene’s… private area with any of you.”

“Well fine, Martin, in all honesty I wasn’t intending to initiate a discussion about your girlfriend’s vagina.” Carolyn was rather enjoying pressing the ‘ _flush_ ’ button that seemed to send Martin a brighter and brighter pink with every press. “But I’m curious now.”

“About her vagina?”

“About her piercings.”

“How do you know she has piercings?”

“Well, you implied that although she had no piercings up the wazoo, as it were, there were other locations in which she had tiny pieces of metal.”

“I’m not talking about it. You can come over and talk to her about it if you really want to know.”

“I might well do that, Martin.” Carolyn had the tone of somebody who wanted to know the process before she bought into the experience herself.

“Well if you do,” Douglas added snidely, “Just… don’t tell us where you’re getting the piercings done.”

.

.

.

A little after the fiasco about Helene’s piercings, Martin retreated into his headspace, letting Douglas take the lead on the flight – _Oh, Captain, My Captain, has the student finally surpassed the master? –_ and thinking back to the night before, where his hands had dragged over the skin of his girlfriend – _call me yours, Martin, please_ – and his lips had tasted the sweat on her skin – _mmm, Helene –_ and they had fucked.

She called it fucking when they had no real time. The first time? Gentle. Slow. Making out and making love. The second time, three AM after the lights were out and she tucked her head into his neck and splayed her legs to welcome him, it was fast and she was muffling her curses with her teeth in his shoulder. _That,_ she whispered, _fuck me, there, harder…_ He lost it, and fast, but this time she pulled him closer, pressed his fingers to her clit and kept him thrusting until she came too, panting his name and biting her lip, smirking as she dodged kisses.

“You need to sleep,” she had murmured, “If you kiss me you’ll want to wait until we can fuck again.”

“Fuck? I want to make love to you next time,” He had murmured, the euphoria of an orgasm overriding his stumbling words, “I do, Helene, proper love, sensual love,” She kissed him to shut him up.

“We’ll make love when you get home, tomorrow night, love. You can wait that long, surely?”

He was counting down the hours. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess the Game! (It's rather a fun one, if you can unscramble the rules!)


	13. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's almost Christmas.

Martin sighed softly as Helene moved from his lap and onto her side of the bed. Skin glistening with a combination of sweat and god only knew what else – _Martin, let’s be filthy, come on, it’ll be fun –_ she ran her fingers through her hair and picked up his abandoned t-shirt, lightly wiping along the valley between her breasts as his tongue peeked out, his only thought on the gentle taste of her skin in the minutes before.

They should have known that post-coital bliss didn’t last long in a student house.

Ten seconds into Helene’s perfunctory clear up, three sharp knocks hit the door and she jolted, losing her grip on the shirt.

“Hel’? Hel, you in there?” Callum’s voice sounded through the door, “If you’re fucking, I can come back, but this is kinda important. Landlords and stuff.”

“Shit, hold on.” She twisted her legs away from Martin’s and groaned, “where’s my top, Martin?”

“Bathroom.” Her eyes fluttered closed and she groaned again. It wasn’t quite as sexy when she was frustrated. “Just put that on.” He pointed at the top in her hands.

“But what about you?”

“Oh, I… I…” He glanced around frantically. “Just put it on.”

So she did.

Poor Callum opened the door to a sight he was sure he never wanted to think about again. Martin, poor skinny bastard, was covering himself vertically with a pillow, hips just visible as he clung to the bottom of it with bare, skinny thighs. Helene, on the other side of the bed, looked utterly debauched – and here Callum realised he’d never had the need to use that word before – hair slightly damp, sheen of sweat across her face and a t-shirt on that Callum was a little bit sure had jizz on it. He didn’t want to ask, so he began prowling at the end of the bed, focussing on kicking the various undergarments on the carpet out of his path.

“So, uh, what’s the problem?”

“I had an email this morning from B and Co, you know, cos they’re bloody paranoid? And they’ve asked how long we’re all going to be home for Christmas, cos they want to look at renting the rooms out again for the next year, and they were mentioning sending people around over the holidays.”

“Well, I’ll be at home from the 20th to the first, Cal, but nobody’s going in there without my permission!”

If Callum had dared to look either of them in the eye, he would have seen two very different expressions on two very different faces.

Helene’s face - “I haven’t even thought about where I’m living next year. I want to stay near Martin.”

Martin’s face – “She’s leaving. She’s leaving. She might not want to come back.”

As it was, he nodded.

“Just checking, darling. I’ll see what I can do about them staying out, and let you know.”

With that, he was gone and the couple were left staring at the door, Helene quietly tugging the shirt away from her skin, abandoning it once more on the floor, and Martin slowly replacing the pillow behind him as he laid back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Martin?”

“Yeah?” He kept his eyes on the low beams above his head, trying not to let the words crack as he spoke them, “You’re not staying around Christmas?”

“Mum and dad asked me home last month. I told you, you said that you’d probably be flying, so it was okay. Isn’t it okay?”

“It’s fine.” _I booked Christmas off. Carolyn nearly murdered me,_ “I was just… thinking maybe it would be nice to have a slice of Christmas together.”

“Shit, Martin, I didn’t think. We can do it before I go? Then we can celebrate New Year properly when I come back?”

_If._

“Yeah. Sure.” He forced a smile though his stomach was rolling worse than it had with the turbulence over Tulsa. “I don’t think your present will make it in time, but it’ll still be here in January.”

“Why don’t we do it in January, then? It could be nice, we could…” She chuckled softly, “We could do Christmas with your people from work if you like? I’m sure if we asked Carolyn nicely, and I offered to cook, it could be quite the nice affair?”

“It’ll be an abject disaster, Hel. When has anything involving them not been.”

“Oh shush, love.” As he blinked his eyes open, her face loomed over his in the half-light. “I’ll be there, and you know I’m not going to let anything get away from you. Nothing’s a disaster when I’m here.” She winked and leaned in to kiss him, running her fingers through his hair as she pulled him close.

“I know.” _It’s just how long you’re going to stay._

_._

_._

_._

Christmas came far too bloody early for anybody to really process the short weeks they had left. There were essays due, flight plans to be filed and barely any stolen moments as the couple made their plans for the Christmas weekend.

In the fleeting moments they were together, Martin spent his time trying to prove to Helene that he was worthy of her affections,  stolen kisses and tiny little corrections to her grammar for the essays she had to hand in, cooking her dinner at three AM. Anything that made her smile, he did.

He tried, anyway.

The morning of the 20th, however, everything seemed to unravel. He woke as she slipped out of bed, pulling on her pyjamas and picking up her phone, answering it with a hand over Martin’s mouth.

“Morning, dad.” She smiled and gently stroked her thumb over Martin’s bottom lip as she settled on his hips, “No, no, I’m up. Just barely.”

There were garbled words on the other end of the phone and she smiled.

“Of course. Let me just get Martin up, and he’ll let you in while I get decent.”

The tone coming through the speaker turned sharp and she stilled.

“Dad, we’re… Dad, shut up.” She ran her free hand through her hair and sighed, “Martin will let you in, and you will be nice to him. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She threw her phone to the bed and sighed, leaning down to kiss Martin good morning.

“Are you going so soon?”

“Apparently my parents thought we’d make better time if I was more miserable.”

“But… breakfast. And-” _Me._ “You’re going too early.” He couldn’t help it, the pout was instinctive as she leaned down and kissed him. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be back in eleven days, you daft pilot.”

“Even so.”

“Get some pants on, we’ve got time for a snog before they get here.”  

.

.

.

“I love you, Hel.”

“I know, you daft thing,” She nuzzled his jaw gently, “Mum and dad are watching, though. So… nothing too romantic?”

“Does that mean I can’t sweep you off your feet and into the van?”

“Yes, love. It does.” She smiled and kissed his cheek gently, “I’ll text you when I’m home, okay? I love you, Martin. An awful lot.”

“I know,” he mimicked, smiling sadly, “You daft thing.”

“The fridge is full, by the way. Make the most of it.”

He couldn’t help it. Her spirit, generosity, kindness and love warmed him from the bottom up and the sensation exploded inside of him. A moment later, and he had swept her off her feet and into a kiss, deep, slow and romantic.

“Helene!”

They only broke apart when her father called her name.

“I’ll go home more often, if it means I get romance like that.”

“Don’t, please.” He gently touched her cheek, then her chin, “I love you. Have a good Christmas.”

“You too. I’m excited for the New Year. It means I get to see you again.” They hugged, and she strode out of the door, smiling.

.

.

As Helene settled into the car she caught her father's eye in the mirror. As much as she wanted to look the other way once their gazes locked, she was in trouble.

“Twenty eight?” he guessed politely, though she could see the tightness in his jaw.

"Thirty two." She smiled at the thought, and saw the apples of her mother’s cheeks rise from the front passenger seat. _She understood._

"You could go younger, you know. Just because your mother and I have an age gap, doesn't mean you have to too."

"I know, dad. But... Martin's Martin, you know? He'd be that daft at any age."


End file.
